Irredeemable
by Sword of the Shadow
Summary: HD Slash Our choices define us, but when no choice is left, we become something else entirely. A boy hero finds himself caught between two destinies, two people, and two choices. Is he fallen temporarily, or truly irredeemable? Sequel now up!
1. Chapter One

_All around him the air was thick and dark. The night hung oppressively and the weak beams of moonlight failed in their futile attempt to brighten the shadowed world. Time itself seemed to stop and pause for a moment, unable to draw breath in the gelatinous heaviness of the air._

_The dark limbs and huge trunks of the trees in the Forbidden Forest surrounded him. Odd creatures, several so rare as to be without names, skittered just out of his peripheral vision, breaking sticks with snaps and hooting softly. Even the natural noises of the animals were muted and mired in the thick atmosphere. _

_He wanted to turn away, to wake up and remember that this was all a dream, but he could not. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, watching in horror as the werewolf approached. _

_The coat of the beast was a dull gray and the hair was matted and snarled. That and the feral gleam in his eyes were evidence that this particular werewolf had chosen- or been forced- to leave society completely and instead was making a life for himself deep in the dark and dangerous woods. _

_The werewolf stopped its slinking advance, sinking back on its haunches. The head lifted and the mouth opened, letting out a howling moan that brought him to his knees. His hands pushed inwards on his ears, trying to block out the piteous sound. Slowly, he began to rock back and forth in time to the wolf's crooning. His eyes, however, never left the gleaming yellow orbs of the wolf which held his complete attention._

_The eyes spoke of a mission that the werewolf had been assigned, one which he intended to complete that very night. They promised horrid pain and yet strength and power beyond imagining. At the same time that they offered suffering, they held out wild hopes._

_Ever so slowly he began to moan, his howl rising up in the direction of the full moon along with the wolves. Together the two creatures cried out their pain and torment, knowing that those who resided safely within the walls of Hogwarts would look out in the direction of the Forbidden Forest and shiver in fear at the innumerable dark things which stalked unknown just beyond the safety of Hagrid's wooden hut._

_The two remained that way for some time, understanding each other on a much deeper and more primitive level than anything either had ever experiences. But while the werewolf cried in the self-assurance that he was working towards ending the pain that came as a result of his sub-human status, the other merely screamed and shook because he saw no end to his torment._

_Suddenly, the howling stopped. The werewolf's eyes shone with an unholy light._ I could help you, _they seemed to suggest. _That's why I'm here.

_The other one scrambled away, scuttling backwards like a crab. _ I don't want what you have to give. Leave me alone, _he pleaded._

_The werewolf, however, just gave a jaunty grin and began to walk slowly towards his companion, tail wagging in an unfriendly manner. His prey scurried away from him once more, stopping when his back thudded painfully into one of the large gray tree trunks. Absentmindedly he thought that he would have a bruise._

_The sharp teeth of the werewolf, however, promised that a bruise would be the least of his problems. The wolf was only inches away, and he could feel the heart thudding within its ribcage, beating in precise time with his own. With a vicious roar the wolf lunged at him, biting his flesh-_

"Wake up, Harry, come on!" The voice was insistent and thick with worry. "It's just another nightmare, you're fine. Wake up, Harry, please!" The voice cracked with emotion. He heard rushed, panicked breathing and low moans and it took him a moment to realize that the terrified noises were coming from him.

He opened his eyes to see the concerned face of Draco staring intently down at him. The blond was biting his lip anxiously. He sighed in relief and smiled slightly when Harry's eyes focused on him. "Harry, you're alright, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, his voice raw from screaming in his sleep. He allowed himself to relax among the soft, silk-covered pillows. "It was just another nightmare."

"You've been having a lot of them lately," Draco commented. Unconsciously he began to chew his lower lip. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, it's just..." Harry did not know what it was.

"Do you want a Dreamless Sleep potion? I'm sure we've got one around here somewhere..." Draco gracefully stood in one fluid motion and began to look around the room.

"No, it's alright," Harry told him. "I'll be okay, I think. I've had a lot worse."

"If you're sure," Draco responded, moving back to the large bed to sit next to Harry.

"It's nothing, really. It's just getting awfully close to the full moon."

Draco nodded in understanding. "It's been a year now, exactly a year, since you were bitten. Or it will be as soon as the full moon comes."

Harry shivered at the memory. "You'll make sure to stay away from me, won't you? I don't want to accidentally bite you. There are some others who I wouldn't mind cursing with lycanthropy, but you're not one of them."

Draco frowned deeply. "I don't want you to have to go through this alone. This will be your most painful transformation yet. Even the Wolfsbane Potion can't do anything for you exactly a year after you were bitten."

"Draco," Harry warned, "without the Wolfsbane I won't be able to control anything that I do while I'm a wolf."

"I know." The blonde's face brightened in a sudden cheeky grin. "I was going to wait to show you, but now seems as good a time as any."

"Show me what?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"This." There was a small pop and a large, pale wolf with hair the exact color of Draco's hair sat in the space Draco had vacated. The wolf grinned and its long pink tongue lolled out of its mouth for a moment before turning back into a madly grinning Draco.

"You're an Animagus!" Harry said excitedly, also grinning from ear to ear.

"And a wolf at that. Now you won't have to transform alone." Harry did not say anything, but Draco could tell by the look in his eyes exactly how much it meant to him.

* * *

Hermione Granger irritably stuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was so hard to concentrate on memorizing all of the necessary spells when her hair could never manage to stay within the confines of the low ponytail she had pulled it back into. She was curled up in one of the comfy scarlet armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, a book of advanced spells propped open on her lap. The shining head girl badge was pinned neatly on the front of her robe, the metal shining in the red light from the snapping fire.

Ron Weasley was also in the common room, though he was stretched languidly over the length of an entire leather couch. He was also studying, though far less intently than Hermione. He had a matching head boy badge, though he did not wear his with the same confidence that Hermione did.

Ron's younger sister Ginny was reading, along with her boyfriend Neville Longbottom, from a book on protection charms. The two were seated closely together on a velvet loveseat, arms loosely wrapped around each other.

Other than the four of them the room was totally empty. The edges of the common room that the light from the fire could not quite reach were shadowed and threatening. It was a sad day indeed when even the Gryffindor common room had lost its familiar sense of complete safety.

"This is completely hopeless," Ron sighed, closing his book. He was tempted to slam it but did not want to deal with an irate Hermione. "None of this stuff is going to help us in the slightest."

"You don't know that," Hermione answered stubbornly, skewering her boyfriend with a pointed glare. "We're going to need every bit of help that we can get."

"Ron's right, Hermione," Neville interrupted her. His voice had deepened to a warm bass and his face had lost its childish roundness. "The counter curse for a tripping hex isn't going to do us much good against Avada Kedavra."

"But we have to learn as much as we can," Hermione argued fiercely. "We can't sit back and let the adults take care of things anymore! We're of age now, and in our last year. This is our war, and we're going to be the ones who have to fight it."

"Hermione, as much as I wish you were right, this isn't going to work."

"Then what is?" she demanded. "What do we have left to place our hopes in?"

"Sheer dumb luck?" Ron guessed. Ginny swatted him none too gently on the arm. "What? A lot of battles were won that way!"

"I thought you were supposed to be the master strategist of the family," Ginny pointed out, crossing her arms firmly across her chest.

"This isn't anywhere near as simple as a game of chess! In chess, one side doesn't have the advantage of the Unforgivables."

Hermione sighed deeply. "Chess is too simple to really be a good metaphor for war. It doesn't take into account fatigue, or low morale, or troops ignoring orders."

"But it's missing good things too," Neville pointed out. "Courage and sacrifice and nobility. Plus there's hope and prophecy and-"

Hermione cut him off with a dry sob. "Don't you mention any prophecies. I don't believe in prophecies anymore. And hope's something for fools. Hope won't get you anything." Her brown eyes held a look far too bitter than any seventeen year old had a right to have.

* * *

Lord Voldemort sat calmly on his throne. The chair was a grotesque thing, yet oddly beautiful in a horrifying and sickening way. It was composed entirely of human bones. The legs of the throne ended in long-toed skeleton feet. At the end of each arm of the chair was a human hand, one of which had fingers driven deep into the palm in agony. The back was someone- or several someone's- ribs and spine while atop of the monstrosity was the skull of a small child.

The thing may have been almost unbearably uncomfortable, but he loved it none the less.

Around the edges of his throne room a hundred of his assembled Death Eaters stood solemnly with their heads bowed in reverence to their master. He smiled at the sight of them. These were not even a fraction of his forces. In the past year his army had grown considerably.

"What is the status of the attack?" he asked calmly, playing with the fingers of one of the skeletal limbs.

"Diagon Alley has fallen, my lord," a single Death Eater, indistinguishable from the rest answered. He stood proudly in his black masked robes. "Pockets of resistance are being exterminated as we speak. We already have control over the important areas such as Gringotts and the Daily Prophet."

"And what of casualties?"

"Only ten Death Eaters died. This is in comparison to over fifty Aurors and innumerable witches and wizards of no importance."

"Excellent. You will be well rewarded for your prompt and diligent execution of my orders, Lucius." The elder Malfoy bowed smoothly and stepped back into the circle of his fellows. "This is most encouraging news. Already we have brought the Wizarding world crashing to its knees. Soon we will control it totally." His red eyes shone with a fevered and fanatical light.

The Death Eaters smiled behind their masks.

* * *

Dumbledore slumped behind his desk in the midst of his office. Although the room was filled with spinning silver instruments that would have captured and held the attention of any other man, Dumbledore was not at all interested in the trinkets. His blue eyes, which had managed to retain their twinkle even through the darkest days of the earlier war, when he had first formed the Order of the Phoenix to oppose the growing threat of Tom Riddle, were as dead as thousands of wizards and witches across the island nation.

He would have liked to blame himself for all of the tragedies that had befallen his beloved homeland, but was incapable of doing so. No matter how many times he replayed the events of the past year over and over again in his head he could find nothing that he could have done differently, nothing that could have possibly brought any light into this darkest of situations.

And now Diagon Alley had fallen to the forces of darkness. The Ministry of Magic was already threatened. Soon, Voldemort's armies would be powerful enough to begin the assault on Hogwarts.

It should never have come to this.

The fates were toying with him. He wondered if they realized that this was not merely a game for them to play and toss away when they grew bored of its monotony. Gods had a startling record of not realizing that while they could not die as a result of their grudges against one another, the mortals they used as their soldiers certainly could.

He did not have the time for all of this melancholy nonsense, yet he found himself unable to escape the cycle. There were so many things that desperately needed his attention: the castle's defenses, the preparedness of the students for the battles they would undoubtedly have to participate in, and the affairs of the Order.

And yet, despite the mess of documents scattered across the fine mahogany surface of his polished antique desk, he could force himself to do nothing but sit and reflect on the past bitterly.

In the end, it was he that had failed the Wizarding and Muggle populations alike. If only he had not been so careless, if he had paid more attention to what was transpiring underneath his very nose. If only he had not been so busy with trying to run a school and a secret organization and still remain a resource to the Ministry at the same time.

If only he had been more aware, Harry Potter would not have succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

Harry woke up feeling understandably tired. Tonight was the full moon and his bones ached accordingly. He lay in bed for a long time without moving, luxuriating in the warmth and comfort, something which even he had still not grown completely accustomed to.

After perhaps half an hour Draco came into the room. A small host of House Elves bearing heavily laden breakfast trays followed behind him. Harry rolled his eyes at the other boy's extravagance, but smiled kindly in thanks.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed facing each other, the two began to dig their way through porridge and fruits and hams and a dozen other dishes. Harry ate lightly, mostly poking at his food and moving it around his plate with his silverware.

"You need to eat, Harry," Draco admonished gently. "You won't survive the transformation if you don't have the strength to eat." Harry tried to comply, but by the end of the meal his plate was still half-full. As the House Elves began to clear up the dishes, Draco said, "Master wants to meet with us as soon as you're dressed."

Harry nodded. In a few short moments, both he and Draco were striding confidently down the halls, crimson robes flapping behind them. Other Death Eaters scurried out of their way, bowing low in obeisance. The two young men ignored them all except for the occasional acknowledging nod.

"Ah, my two young snakes," Voldemort greeted as the two boys bowed in front of them. His face bore an oddly parental expression of pride. "Today is a day of utmost importance for you, Harry."

"Yes, my lord," Harry answered, bowing again.

"You need not be so formal, my snake," Voldemort hissed softly. "Today you will become a true werewolf. In honor of such an important occasion, I believe you deserve a reward." Harry smiled at the honor bestowed on him. "I give you my permission to do whatever you wish with that wretched family of yours. Draco, of course, may help you."

"Thank you, my lord!"

Voldemort smiled, and were it not for his hard eyes and serpentine features it would have almost seemed as if he were a benevolent old grandfather. "Enjoy your time." With that he dismissed them.

Draco grabbed a hold of Harry's hand as they walked through the cold stone corridors. He gave it a comforting squeeze. "After all of the abuse they showed you, you will finally have your revenge, Harry."

"That I will," Harry responded, eyes half shut and corners of the mouth turned up in a look of ecstasy. His eyes flashed a steely emerald. "And I will enjoy every minute of it.

Harry and Draco Apparated just a few blocks away from Number Four Privet Drive, the closest they could get as a few of the wards originally set up to protect Harry from the man he now served were still in place. The few Muggles who were out working in their yards saw the hard glint of murder in their eyes and hurried away to hide inside their houses until the odd strangers left.

"Look at all of these damn Muggles," Draco snorted in disgust. "And their houses and contraptions. The world is much better off without filth like this."

Harry nodded his head in complete agreement. "The sooner the scum is eradicated the better off we'll be. Especially lowlifes like the Dursleys," he growled.

"Don't worry," Draco soothed, putting a calming hand on Harry's shoulder. "They'll be taken care of soon enough."

"It will never be soon enough for me," Harry disagreed, but relaxed at Draco's touch.

Soon, they were walking up to the house where Harry had spent the worst years of his life. Vernon Dursley, a dark gray business suit straining around his girth, was walking towards his brand new car when he spotted the two wizards.

Instantly, he ran inside the house, shaking in complete terror. Harry grinned, a sadistic, maniacal look. He drew his wand simultaneously with Draco. Without even waving the polished stick of wood, however, the door of the Dursley residence flung open wide before him. He stepped into the foyer, noting how little had changed in the little over a year he had been gone.

The floors were still the same ugly color and pictures of a simpering Dudley were plastered all over the wall as usual. He breathed in deeply and turned to Draco. "Can't you smell the fear?" Draco nodded, cheeks flushed with the same excitement that made Harry's eyes light up. Harry's eyes fell on the cupboard under the stairs, and his expression darkened and soured. "I want to show you this."

He opened the cupboard door, pointing inside. "This is where I slept until I got into Hogwarts. The bastards wouldn't even give me my own room." To Draco, this was a crime beyond imagining.

"Our House Elves have closets bigger than this!" he raged. While Harry doubted that the Malfoy's House Elves had any closets of their own, he appreciated the metaphor. "We're going to teach them a lesson, Harry. I'll make sure they wish they'd never dared to touch you." Draco's jaw was set stubbornly and his eyes were resolute. He was radiating warmth and support, at least towards Harry. What he felt for the Dursleys though, was pure, unadulterated anger and unbridled hate.

"This way," Harry said, leading his friend into the living room. All three Dursleys were clustered together on the far side of the room, eyes bulging out of their heads. "Why, Dudley," Harry greeted jovially at the sight of his cousin. If not for the twisted, sardonic smirk on his face and the sarcasm which laced his tone as he thickly as he had always wanted to lace the Dursleys' food with poison, he almost sounded overjoyed to see his cousin. "I thought you'd be away at good old Smeltings about now."

Dudley stammered something about being expelled. "Oh, too bad Dudley. Although I'm really surprised that you stayed in as long as you did. Must have been hard with your small brain."

Dudley roared and launched himself at Harry, perhaps not realizing the difference that a year had made in his cousin. Harry waited until Dudley was almost upon him before stepping aside and letting his cousin run headfirst into the wall. He sprawled backwards on the floor.

"Tsk, tsk, Dudley. I see that you seem to think you can still beat me up the way you did when we were younger. Things have changed, though, you see. I'm not the sweet innocent boy I once was. I've joined with Voldemort."

Petunia's face went instantly white; she at least actually knew what he was talking about. Dudley, however, remained as stupid as ever. "So what?" he asked sullenly.

"So this." Harry raised his wand and struck a pose like the pictures of wizards in Muggle books. "_Crucio_!"

* * *

Jennifer O'Keefe was a petite redhead who was in training to become an Auror. Under normal circumstances she would never have passed the physical or intellectual entrance exams, but the Ministry had become desperate for Aurors. Unfortunately for Jennifer, she was smart enough to realize that she was only allowed in because there was a great need and she resented it deeply. She was determined to prove herself.

So it was that she was at the Department of Law Enforcement's Dark Magic Monitors on that rainy morning. There were still small flashes of Dark magic popping up in Diagon Alley, but that was to be expected. She did not bother to draw the Auror in charge of the monitors to them as there was nothing they could do for the time being; Diagon Alley was lost to them.

Still, she sat in front of the small glass panel that popped up with the location of the dark magic. Most of it seemed to be coming from the Leak Cauldron. Sighing and brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face, she moved on to the next monitor, one that did not focus solely on London.

Number Four Privet Drive. The letters appeared boldly on the glass panel, larger than she had ever seen them before. Her blue eyes widened, startled. "Auror Wolk!" she called, her voice demanding immediate attention. "I've never seen such a large degree of Dark magic at use at one time!" Auror Wolk, an ancient man who had likely fought alongside Dumbledore when he defeated Grindewald, limped over to her display.

"Bloody Merlin," he cursed. "Dispatch two squads of Aurors to the scene immediately!"

"Yes, sir," she responded cheerfully, instantly obeying his orders. After she had relayed the location and a warning to be careful, she sat back in her chair, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. She had proved to them that she deserved to be an Auror.

Of course, when she found out a few hours later that not one Auror had survived, she lost her pride in her achievements.

* * *

Dudley lay panting on the floor, his fat body slick with sweat and his tiny eyes bulging out of their sockets. Aunt Petunia was sobbing loudly on the other side of the room. Harry did not even bother to give her a taste of physical pain; the emotional side of the spectrum was quite enough.

Vernon Dursley, though, had sat through the torture of his son stonily and he had lost none of his despise for wizards or their ways. "What's that disgusting thing on your cheek boy? It looks like vermin to me, just like you always were."

"You mean this?" Harry pointed to his left cheek and smirked. A tattoo of a silver serpent rested there. This though, was a magical tattoo. The snake's body rose and fell slightly as it drew breath. When Harry pointed to it, the snake uncoiled, shining fiercely against the boy's pale skin. "That is the mark that my master has given me. None of his other followers except Draco and I have it. It is a symbol of our power."

"Power? You're just a bunch of freaks pulling bunnies out of hats and expecting people to clap- ahhh!"

This time it was Draco who had fired the curse. "You know, you filthy Muggle, I'm growing really tired of you. And because you couldn't keep me entertained, you'll pay even more." Draco laughed caustically and Harry joined in.

"Turn around, Death Eaters!" a curt voice barked sharply.

"Aurors," Harry breathed, and pivoted on one foot. The Aurors, some two dozen and all, gasped collectively. They had all heard that Harry Potter had become a Death Eater, of course, but none have them had truly believed that the Boy-Who-Lived was a traitor. Here, though, was concrete proof.

"Harry!" Tonks pushed her way out of the back of the crowd of Aurors. "What do you think your doing?"

"I'm paying back my... family," he twisted the word around bitterly, "for all that they've done to me."

"That's not you Harry, it can't be," she pleaded.

"Do you doubt his word?" Draco asked, stepping up beside the shorter boy.

"Maybe he's under Imperio," someone else muttered.

"Please," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I am not so weak that that curse can control me. What I do I do of my own free will."

"Then I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that we're going to have to take you into our custody."

Harry cocked his head to one side and twisted the corners of his lips upwards. "Have fun," he shrugged, before firing off a quick succession of Unforgivables. One by one, the Aurors fell over, massacred.

"I suppose that we'd better finish with them before more Aurors show up," Draco said.

As one, they turned on the Dursleys.

* * *

When the report reached Albus Dumbledore of the massacre at Number Four Privet Drive, all he could do was shake his head sadly.

"Harry, my dear boy, where did I go wrong? What did I do that caused you to turn to the side of darkness?"

Professor McGonagall, who had delivered the news, announced stiffly, "I hardly find that it is your fault that the boy allowed himself to be tempted and fell."

"But it is my fault, Minerva. I'm one of the closest things to a parent he's ever had, and I led him astray, somehow."

"He'll come back eventually, Albus. He has to. The prophecy-"

Dumbledore shook his head again, eyes filled with sorrow and despair, a look so foreign to his face as to make him seem an entirely different person. "The prophecy may not be fulfilled as we had thought it must be. Perhaps it doesn't really apply to right now at all."

"There is always the hope that Potter will come back to us. He has been fighting against You-Know-Who for nearly his entire life; surely he would not throw that away so lightly."

"I'm afraid, Minerva, that Harry Potter may be irredeemable."

With that one sentence, all hope went out of Minerva McGonagall's soul: if even Dumbledore had declared Potter irredeemable, then there was nothing that they could do to save him.


	2. Chapter Two

_He collapsed at the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, the portkey falling uselessly from his limp hand. He panted, gulping for air. His face pressed into the damp, cold soil, and with every breath he smelled the earthy fragrance of lush green grass. Slowly, he began to laugh, the slow, almost insane laugh of someone who should be dead._

_He did not know how long he lay like that, body prone on the soil, bits of ripped robes scattered about him. He was safe! He had never thought he would see the sun again, much less Hogwarts! His laughter deepened and he could not stop himself from rolling across the turf. It was so good to be back._

_He stood slowly, painfully aware of his injuries. Several joints popped and creaked nastily, and his broken ribs sent a wave of fire up his spine, but he could walk. He began to make his difficult progress towards the castle, eyes never leaving the sanctuary._

_After what seemed like an eternity he finally reached the huge castle doors. He lowered himself down, resting his back against them, breathing roughly. After so long without movement, even the small effort of walking a quarter mile was almost beyond him._

_Still, the studded wood poking into his back reminded him where he was and that he was alive. Soon he would be safe once more within the walls of Hogwarts and the problems of the past month would disappear. _

_He levered himself to a standing position and pulled at the doors. They did not open. Sighing in exasperation, he tried again. There was no movement. He yanked with as much strength as his slightly atrophied muscles lent him. The doors flung open suddenly and he went flying backwards. _

_Landing on the rough stone steps jarred his body painfully. His ribs screamed out in their torment. He gasped for air, blinking rapidly as his vision blackened and almost disintegrated altogether. After a few minutes he felt safe enough to attempt to enter the great castle once more. This time the door opened with no difficulty; it must have been stuck before. _

_The entryway was devoid of any students. He began to slowly limp in the direction of the Great Hall, hearing the loud chatter of the students within. It must be lunch time. His stomach growled loudly at the thought of food; he had long since lost track of how long it had been since he had eaten. As he made his way towards the Great Hall he seemed to grow stronger with every step, almost as if the magic of Hogwarts was bolstering him and providing him with the extra strength he so desperately needed._

_No one noticed him at first as he stepped inside. Then, a few students gasped, as did one of the teachers. As one, the entire occupancy of the Great Hall turned to stare at him, mouths agape. _

_"You're dead," someone shouted uncontrollably._

_"Not really," he grinned. "It takes a lot more than that to kill me."_

_

* * *

_

The full moon was coming, he could feel it. Already his body was beginning to long to break out of its human constraints. He felt the urge to howl loudly. Draco stood at his side, ready to transform into his Animagus form as soon as he sensed that Harry was beginning to change. The two young men were on the outskirts of a Muggle settlement. If Harry was lucky, he would feast tonight.

"It's starting," he tried to say, but he was cut off halfway through by a moan of pain. His body was beginning to change, the bones shifting and growing longer. He barked as his nerves were pushed to their limit, synapses screaming in the most complete pain he had every experienced. Hair sprouted all over his body, and soon he was on all fours, snout raised and sniffing the cool night air. The transformation was complete.

The two wolves, one a pale blonde and the other a deep black began to hunt, scenting for humans. Not many were out this late at night, especially on a full moon, but that only made the hunt more challenging.

Together they ran lightly through the dark woods, eight paws beating down upon the cold dirt in perfect synchronization.

* * *

Hermione was helping herself to another serving of pot roast when Dumbledore entered the Great Hall, eyes grave. Lightly, he cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the entire Hall to him. "I have some rather horrible news to report," he intoned solemnly. "Diagon Alley has fallen to the Death Eaters."

Several of the younger students began to cry while the older ones just stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. Sure, they had known things were not going well for their side, but this... this was beyond comprehension.

"The Ministry of Magic is already being targeted for attacks." Dumbledore paused to take a deep breath, and although everyone knew what he was about to tell them, he plunged on anyway. "After the Ministry, Hogwarts is the next most likely target." The sobs of the younger students grew into high-pitched screams.

"I don't want to die!" a first year a few places down from Hermione cried, shaking his head from sided to side wildly.

"No one will die. We will begin to take safety measures immediately, ones that will be even more strictly enforced than they were during the year when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Protective measures around the school are quite strong and even as I speak more defensive layers are being added. As long as we can all keep calm, we have nothing to worry about." A slight tremor in his voice betrayed his lie.

The Slytherin table looked distinctly pleased and not one whit worried. Of course, Hermione thought sarcastically, it's not as if there own parents will kill them. Everyone wearing a Slytherin badge would likely survive.

"Now, would all of the prefects please escort their Housemates to their dormitories where further information will be available through your Head of House. Would the head girl and head boy also come to see me?" Ron and Hermione looked at each other and shrugged, neither one knowing exactly why Dumbledore wanted to see them. They stayed seated until the rest of the school had dispersed, then walked slowly up to the Head table where Dumbledore and a few other teachers remained seated.

"Ah, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. Please, come to my office." Hermione and Ron followed silently behind Dumbledore's sweeping purple robes. Dumbledore whispered the password and the three wizards filed up the stairs. Dumbledore took his place behind his desk, indicating for Ron and Hermione to take their own chairs.

The ancient headmaster regarded them calmly for a few moments, his fingers clasped neatly on the desk before him. He heaved a deep sigh. "There was another attack that I did not tell the rest of the school about. Most of the faculty, however, knows. Because of your positions of head girl and head boy and because of your emotional involvement in this particular attack, I feel that it is best to prepare you."

"What do you mean, emotional involvement? Was it the Burrow? Are mum and dad okay?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Your parents are fine, Ron. The attack was on Number Four Privet Drive. The Dursleys are dead."

"But that means... Harry," Hermione said sadly as realization dawned. "Oh, it can't be true!"

"I'm afraid, my dear child, that it is so. Harry and Draco Malfoy tortured and killed all three Dursleys as well as a team of Aurors who showed up to try and stop them."

"No! That's impossible! Harry would never do anything like that!" Fat, moist tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Hermione," Ron admonished. "He's not Harry anymore. He's not the Harry that you and I knew and loved. He's a monster. Harry's dead." His tone was flat and cold.

"Ron, how can you say that? This is Harry we're talking about. I don't care about what happened last year, Harry couldn't turn dark. His entire life's been devoted to fighting You-Know-Who!"

"Miss Granger, I have solid proof. A magical analysis of the crime scene revealed exactly what transpired there. Although I will not play it for you, I ask you to take a look at these." He pulled out several sheets of paper from a drawer in his desk.

The papers were Wizard photographs showing Harry and Malfoy. Both were dressed in identical blood red robes with the Dark Mark embroidered over the heart. Each had a silver snake tattoo that writhed and hissed on their cheek. Their faces showed a morbid, fanatical enjoyment.

The picture of Harry smirked at them and mouthed a curse at them. Hermione dissolved into tears. Ron gathered her in his freckled arms, patting her on the back and attempting to comfort her as best as he could.

"I am sorry to have to show you these," Dumbledore apologized sincerely, "but it is imperative that you understand that the boy we knew is no longer with us. In his place stands the Dark Lord's most trusted official."

* * *

He smelled humans close by. He sat back on his haunches and howled, a keening sound that tore through the stillness of the night air. His prey was close, and soon he would feast. He trotted onwards, Draco's wolf form following behind him slightly, until the human came into view.

It was a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a quickly receding hairline. He was chewing a dried strip of meat and drinking out of a metal flask. Harry kept to the shadows, circling round and round the man.

He made a small noise and the man looked up. Harry drew back, not wanting the man to see him until he was ready to pounce. The man glanced around warily and began to dig into his pack for something. He pulled out a gun and made sure it was loaded. He clicked off the safety and aimed out into the darkness.

Harry grinned and gathered energy in his powerful hind legs to spring forward. The man must be a Muggle if he had a gun, and Muggles had no defense against werewolves. Harry leapt at the man's back; the man twirled around and quickly fired off two bullets, one missing, but the other one embedding itself deeply in his shoulder. Harry fell several feet short of his goal, whimpering at the pain.

The bullet was a shot of fire and Harry recognized the feeling instantly. Silver!

The man chuckled deeply and stood up, moving over to Harry. "Thought I was just some damn Muggle, eh?" he asked, eyes lit up with humor. "I know how to deal with your kind. You may think you're powerful, but just the littlest bit of silver and you're less than useless."

Harry growled deep in his throat, ears pricking forward in annoyance. He sensed that Draco was somewhere behind him, waiting for the opportune moment to come and help Harry.

"Just have to tie you up 'til morning, you monster. Hopefully, when you turn back, you'll be someone the Ministry is willing to pay hard galleons for. If not, there's always You-Know-Who. Heard he's looking for werewolves to join his cause." The man turned his back towards Harry and reached for his beaten leather pack and the rope that was strung loosely around it.

As soon as the man's back was turned Draco launched himself forward, pinning the man on the ground. He stayed in his wolf form until the man began to cease struggling, and then he changed back into his normal form.

"You picked the wrong werewolf to shoot," he informed the man. Draco whisked his wand out of one pocked and used it to summon cords to bind the man's hands and feet. "You-Know-Who won't be paying you any money for this werewolf. Instead, I think he'll have some fun with you."

"Who... who the hell are you?" the man demanded, eyes wide and white with fear.

"Draco Malfoy. And the werewolf you just shot is Harry Potter, second in command to the Dark Lord himself." The man paled visibly and stuttered uncontrollably. Once he was taken care of, Draco turned to Harry, who lay panting on the ground. "I don't know much healing magic, Harry, but I can at least get the bullet out. If this guy really intended to turn you over alive, it won't be a lethal dose." Draco removed the bullet and Harry began to lick the wound.

"I... I didn't know who he was!" the man, who had by this time regained his wits, tried to persuade Draco. "I'd never try to kill anyone who worked for You-Know-Who, really." Draco just snorted and cast silencio on the man.

"Even if Voldemort does nothing serious to you, I assure you that I will. No one hurts Harry and escapes unscathed." Draco's silver eyes glinted darkly, promising painful retribution.

* * *

Voldemort stared fondly down upon his two proteges. The two boys kneeled respectfully before him. He gestured for Harry to take his smaller throne placed below Voldemort's dais. Harry did so gracefully and Draco moved to stand behind the smaller boy, placing his hands on Harry's shoulders.

Voldemort made a sharp gesture and two hooded and masked Death Eaters left the room. Moments later they were back with the werewolf hunter. The man looked considerably worse for his single night in the dank dungeons of Voldemort's stronghold. Bruises covered his face and blood dripped from several lacerations on his forehead.

As he sighted the Dark Lord, languidly relaxing on his throne of bones, the man began to gibber incomprehensibly. Voldemort's red eyes grinned in anticipation. Harry smirked at the sight of the man who would have handed him over to the Ministry.

"As I understand it," Voldemort was saying, "you would have turned my top lieutenant into the Ministry of Magic solely for a few galleons. Surely you see why this would cause a problem." The man positively quivered. Draco's lips twitched upwards in amusement.

"I... I didn't know!" the werewolf hunter pleaded, furiously shaking his head.

"Your ignorance will earn you no leniency," Voldemort added caustically, nostrils flaring with excitement. "Your fate has already been decided, but it is up to you who shall bring about your doom." The man's eyes darted about as if searching for an escape. Harry knew from personal experience that there was none to be found. "Come now, it's not that difficult. Either Harry or Draco or I will kill you. Who do you choose?"

The werewolf hunter made his decision based solely on rank. "Dr... Draco," he stammered.

"So be it," the Dark Lord intoned, nodding to Draco to begin.

"I told you, you bastard, that no one hurts Harry and gets away with it!" he shouted, raising his wand and administering curse after curse.

The man's screams filled the echoing chamber for hours.

"Thanks, Draco," Harry said after the bloody corpse of the man was disposed of.

"It was nothing. He deserved all that and more for trying to kill you." Harry gave a sleepy smile, his eyes half-lidded. Despite the fact that he had been given the best medical treatment available (St. Mungo's had been taken over two months ago), having silver in his circulatory system had taken a lot out of him.

They were walking back to their room, Harry dragging his feet and yawning and Draco adjusting his pace to keep with the shorter boy. "You need to get some sleep, Harry."

"No, I'm fine, really," Harry tried to argue, but was cut off immediately by Draco.

"Harry, you were just shot; you need to recover." Harry assented weakly, leaning against Draco for the rest of the walk.

* * *

_He woke up in a cold gray stone cell. There was no obvious light source, yet the room was somehow lit, almost as if the blocks of stone themselves were glowing. He could not see a door or any other method of exiting the room. _

_He cradled his head gingerly, feeling around for bruises, of which there seemed to be many. Then, with a panicked realization, he searched his pockets for his wand. It was, of course, gone. Sighing deeply, he leaned his head back against the wall and allowed his shoulders to droop down in despair. Of all the troubles he had managed to land himself in over the years, this was surely the worst._

_It was, at the very least, hours before anyone came for him. The space in front of him shimmered and a Death Eater appeared. He stared at the invader in shock for a moment before realizing that the man most have Apparated into the cell._

_"Get up," the Death Eater instructed roughly, yanking him to his feet when he did not instantly comply. He hissed in pain as the Death Eater clamped a firm, vise-like hand directly on top of one of his numerous bruises._

_"Where are you taking me?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. He was not disappointed. _

_The world disappeared around him, only to quickly reappear, though this room was much different than the one he had started off in. It was a long chamber with high ceilings. At the far end there was a raised dais where Voldemort was seated in a throne made out of- Harry gulped- human bones._

_The Death Eater pushed him forward until he was directly in front of the Dark Lord. "Bow!" the Death Eater commanded. He did not moved, and was immediately shoved roughly so that he fell to his knees. _

_Voldemort leaned forward slightly, looking closely at his face. "And so you are here at last," he observed, a pleased grin lighting up his unnaturally pale face. _

_"Just get this over with already," he spat, not wanting his torture to be any more drawn out than it had to be. _

_"My dear boy, you misunderstand. I have absolutely no intention of killing you." Voldemort's crimson eyes sparkled with mirth. "You are far too valuable to try to kill."_

_"What?" He was astounded. "You don't want me dead? I don't believe you!" He moved his head from left to right and to the left once more. "Are you trying to trick me? That's kind of pointless; I don't have my wand."_

_"I could have killed you long ago had that been my intention."_

_"What about the Triwizard Tournament? You were trying to kill me then." _

_"That was a test, dear boy, one which you passed."_

_"What?" _

_Voldemort chortled, a spine-tingling sound of horror. "You will come to understand in time that if I had been able to kill you so easily, you would not have been worth my time. You have, however, proved yourself worthy."_

_"Worthy of what?" he questioned, not sure he wanted to know. _

_"Worthy of becoming one of my followers."_

_He balked at the mere thought. "I'll never join you! You killed my parents, and you've killed my friends and my godfather, and you've been trying to kill me! Are you insane?"_

_Voldemort stood from the throne and approached him. He tried to scuttle away but found his progress blocked by the large Death Eater. Voldemort crouched down beside him, running a long, thin finger down his cheek. "In time, you will come to understand, and you will join me."_

_"Never! I'd rather die!" he cried furiously._

_"I'm afraid I can not allow that to happen. And you will not be able to escape either. None of your friends will be able to rescue you. Indeed, they think you are dead even now."_

_"Dumbledore will know I'm not dead. He'll come and get me!"_

_"Dumbledore will know nothing of the sort. Even he, however, could not find you in my stronghold. You have no hope."_

_"I'll get out somehow!" he swore boldly. "My friends will believe my story; they always have before."_

_"Not," Voldemort contradicted slyly, "if they have no reason to trust you."_

_"What are you getting at?" he asked, suddenly nervous._

_"Why would Dumbledore believe you if you had the Dark Mark on your arm? He would have no reason to trust a traitorous Death Eater."_

_"You can't give me the Mark!" he protested._

_"I have already marked you as mine once," Voldemort pointed out, tracing the lightning bolt scar up and down his forehead. "Now I will seal it; you belong to me."_

_"No! Don't do this!" he begged, self-control vanishing as he clutched his left forearm. _

_"This will hurt, boy," Voldemort warned, raising his wand and striking a dramatic pose. "Mosmordre!"_

_He screamed in pain and terror, but most of all he screamed because he had been claimed._

_

* * *

_

Hermione stared in horror at the special evening edition of the Daily Prophet. The newspaper had moved to is secondary office outside of Diagon Alley, reporting on the attack and loss of the center of one of the main wizarding areas in all England. The articles, shocking and gory as they may be, were not what drew her attention. Instead, the front page was covered with a gigantic picture of an angry Harry. The raven-haired teenager scowled fiercely up at her, raising his middle finger in mock salute.

**THE BOY-WHO-LIVED: A DEATH EATER?**

_Yesterday the three Muggles living at Number Four Privet Drive, the previous residence of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, were found murdered in their own home along with twenty-four of the top Ministry Aurors sent to investigate reports of Dark magic coming from the residence. It was soon discovered that the murderer was none other than Harry Potter, whose whereabouts for the past year have been uncertain._

_Now, however, it seems that the previous saviour of the Wizarding world is now one of its greatest threats. Potter was seen in the company of Draco Malfoy, whose father is a known Death Eater. An analysis of the crime scene, which revealed all that happened at the small suburban home, clearly shows Potter performing upwards of thirty Unforgivables within the space of an hour. _

_The mark of a silver serpent upon his left cheek seems to be another kind of Dark Mark that connects him to You-Know-Who. With this discovery, the hopes of the Wizarding world have begun to fade. Without our hero, how will we survive the onslaught of You-Know-Who?_

Hermione was absolutely disgusted. These people had no right to run this story. What if Harry was innocent? What if it had just been some random Death Eater under the Polyjuice Potion masquerading as Harry? Now, though, the entire Wizarding community would be convinced that Harry was a Death Eater.

Ron was reading the article with narrowed eyes. When he finished he looked at Hermione. "We're going to get through this Hermione," he assured her calmly, voice flat. "With or without Harry."

"I don't know, Ron. Harry's always been the only one who could stop him, and now with this... I don't know if I'll be able to fight against Harry!"

"He's not Harry anymore, Hermione, you've got to remember that. Harry would never become a Death Eater or use Unforgivables or torture the Dursleys. You and I both know how much he hated him, but Harry would never have killed them so horribly."

"I... I suppose you're right," Hermione conceded. "I just don't want to believe it."

"Neither do I, Hermione, neither do I."

* * *

Minister Fudge quaked behind his desk, staring numbly at the sheet of paper before him. "YOU'RE NEXT", it read. Underneath the bold letters was drawn the Dark Mark. All of it was done in blood. A charm had been put on the paper so that the letters seemed to drip and the snake entwined about the skull writhed realistically. It was signed Lord Voldemort.

Already the Ministry was a dangerous place to work. Death Eaters were stationed outside of the building and acted much like Muggle snipers, picking off people with the Killing curse one by one as they came into work. The Aurors could do nothing about them; whenever they seemed to pinpoint the location of one the Death Eater would Disapparate and suddenly the hunt would begin all over again.

The worst part was that Fudge knew that this war was largely his fault. If only he had believed Dumbledore and the Potter boy three years ago, measures could have been taken to help prevent the rise of the Dark Lord.

Of course, the blustering, political side of his mind told him, the Potter brat had probably been a Death Eater even then. Fudge had even released a statement to the public claiming that he had had his suspicions about the so-called hero all along.

However much that might do for his political career, however, it certainly did nothing to save his life. If anything, Potter would like become enraged if he found out what the Fudge had said. Not only would he deal with Voldemort, but also a furious, vengeful Potter.

Fudge fanned himself with his lime green bowler, aware that he was breaking out into a sweat. Through his bumbling (though he referred to it as complicated political maneuverings) he had amassed two amazingly powerful adversaries, both of whom were bent on his complete and utter destruction.

Fudge had never fancied himself a brave man. He was a coward and he knew it. He was not made of the guts that it would take to face Potter and Voldemort, so he took the easy way out. From inside his desk he pulled a length of rope and hung it from the rafters in his office. He looped the end around his neck and pulled it tight. After tugging on it to make sure it was securely fastened, he leapt of the top of his desk.

The last thought that passed through his mind was that at least the last thing he saw would not be Voldemort's face.


	3. Chapter Three

_"Potter!" Draco cried, launching himself at the werewolf bent over the boy. He immediately began firing off a large number of hexes, which the wolf responded, running away with its bushy tail in between its legs. The damage had still been done, however._

_He lay moaning on the ground, all too aware of the vicious werewolf bite that stung and roared with fire every time he tried to take a breath. Draco swore violently and ripped a long strip off the bottom of his designer cloak, tying it tightly around the wound on Harry's shoulder to form a makeshift bandage. _

_"Come on, Potter, don't die on me!" he commanded roughly, intently watching the pale face. Eventually the emerald eyes opened and though they were clouded with pain, they were at least aware. Draco heaved a sigh of relief. _

_"Alright, Potter?" he asked. Harry managed to nod, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain streaking through his entire body. His back spasmed he began to tremble slightly. "It's okay, Potter, I'm going to get you out of here. I'll take you someplace safe, where you can heal."_

_"I... don't...want to go... to ... Vold...Voldemort," Harry gasped, struggling away as Malfoy tried to help him into a sitting position. _

_"Would you rather stay in the forest and die? Or worse yet, be found by Dumbledore? They were planning to send you to Azkaban, Potter, in case you didn't know. Now I risked plenty just getting you out of there, and you're going to cooperate now."_

_"Please... not Voldemort," Harry pleaded pitifully. Draco almost felt inclined to agree, but where else could he take him? Potter needed medical attention, and the Dark Lord was the only one likely to provide it to someone with the Dark Mark burning darkly on his forearm._

_"I'm afraid we don't have a choice, Potter," Draco said. "He's the only one who can help you." _

_"F... fine," Harry assented, though reluctantly._

_"Good," Draco responded. "This'll be easier on you then. Grab on." He pulled a watch, obviously a portkey, from his pocket. Harry clumsily put a few fingers on the smooth surface but they slid off. "For Merlin's sake," Draco said, irritated. He wrapped Harry's fingers around the small watch and then enveloped Harry's hand in his own. "Don't get used to this," he warned, though not as harshly as he had originally intended. Harry's hand radiated a feverish warmth; he needed a Healer immediately._

_A few seconds later the portkey kicked in, but the energy needed for the journey was too much for Harry. He collapsed into a world of fiery pain._

_

* * *

_

Harry was thrashing underneath the silk seats, muttering occasionally in his sleep. Draco watched him with solemn silver eyes, brows drawn loosely together in concern. Harry's face was scrunched into an expression of pain and suffering, one which made him look years younger than he actually was.

It wasn't right, Draco thought indignantly, that any one person should be as tortured as Harry was. Although the short boy did his best to hide it, Draco could tell that he was tormented by a past that he could not escape. Unfortunately, some of the pain had been caused by him when they were foolish schoolboys at Hogwarts. He had done his best to make it up to Harry since their reconciliation, but he was afraid he would always feel guilty.

Tenderly he traced the line of Harry's jaw. At the gentle touch Harry relaxed, instinctively moving closer to Draco. Draco combed his fingers through Harry's long silky locks. Harry's sleep deepened until he did not make so much as the slightest whimper.

Harry's entire life had been one set of unfortunate circumstances leading to other equally unfortunate occurrences. Harry held so much pain inside that it was a miracle he was still able to function normally.

It was that strength that had first attracted Draco to Harry. He had always seen the Boy-Who-Lived as a pampered and spoiled brat who could not stand up against anything. After he had brought Harry to Voldemort, however, the other boy's true resilience had begun to show. Draco had never before met anyone as competent as Harry.

Harry stirred underneath his gentle caresses, eyes opening sleepily. He smiled blearily, appearing almost angelic. Draco kissed the top of his head softly, wrapping his arms protectively around the smaller boy.

"I had a dream about when you rescued me," Harry informed him.

Draco remembered his wild crash through the Forbidden Forest in an attempt to keep up with Harry. "I'm so sorry about your bite, it's all my fault, I should've been there sooner-"

"Shh," Harry soothed, squeezing Draco's shoulder. "It's not your fault at all. I was running away from you. And you did, after all, save my life. I can't thank you enough for that."

"You're welcome," Draco responded. "How are you feeling?"

Harry slowly rotated the shoulder that had been shot. "Good as new," he smiled. Suddenly, his Dark Mark began to burn slightly. "We're being summoned," he said, although Draco surely knew it as well. They got dressed in their crimson robes quickly, Apparating to Voldemort's throne room to save time.

As they were already within the Dark Lord's stronghold and did not have to excuse themselves from other company, they were among the first to arrive. Harry settled down on his small throne, Draco sitting on the floor in front of him with his head leaning back into Harry's lap.

They watched as the other, lesser Death Eaters began to trickle in until the throne room was filled with them. When all had arrived, Voldemort began to speak. "My spies bring me excellent news," he stated, voice carrying over the assembled crowd. "Fudge is dead. Apparently he was too frightened of us to dare facing us; he committed suicide last night.

A few Death Eaters, the smell of cheap fire whiskey rank on their breath, broke into raucous cheers. "Silence!" Voldemort hissed. "Fudge was an idiot. We still have the rest of the Ministry to deal with, as well as Dumbledore and his ridiculous Order of the Phoenix." The Death Eaters sobered quickly.

"We must begin our attack on the Ministry immediately. Harry and Draco will plan and lead the attack. You will follow their orders precisely." The Death Eaters all understood the implied threat: crossing Harry or Draco would be the same as trying to cross Voldemort.

"That is all. You are dismissed." The Death Eaters disappeared quickly, eager to escape. It was a rare occasion that they were summoned without a single person being placed under the Cruciatus curse and none of them were keen to see how well the slender hair holding them above the flame could hold by tugging on it.

"I hope that you are recovered?" Voldemort asked of Harry. Harry nodded, thanking his master for providing the Healers. "I expect the attack to occur in one week. You, however, will not go."

"But, Master-"

"Do you doubt me?" Voldemort roared. Harry flinched and bowed.

"No, master."

"Good. I can not risk both you and Draco at the same time, not yet. As it is the Ministry we are attacking, there will be a much greater risk than any of our previous attacks. Do not fear, my young snake, you will have your own fun that night."

"What is your bidding?"

"You will appear in Hogsmeade while the older students are on their excursion there. I'm sure you will have no trouble finding a few of your old friends to 'play' with." Voldemort cackled eerily.

"As you wish."

"In the meantime, work with Draco on coordinating the attack. Succeed, and you will both be lavishly rewarded. But if you should fail..." Voldemort left the threat hanging with narrowed eyes.

"We won't fail," Draco answered confidently.

"See to it that you don't."

* * *

Time was running out and Albus Dumbledore knew it. In a way it was like trying to hold water in your hands; the harder you tried, the quicker it splattered on the ground, useless. Time, though, was much more important than water. If they weren't given the time to prepare for the final battle, they wouldn't ever have to worry about finding water to drink or food to eat again.

The news of Cornelius Fudge's suicide was like a death toll, although not entirely unexpected. The Death Eaters had been strangely quiet since their victory in Diagon Alley and Dumbledore it could only mean that they were planning an even bigger attack, this time on the Ministry.

The problem was that he had no idea _when_ the attack would occur. Moreover, he had little real power to do anything about it.

The Order of the Phoenix may have been the sole thing able to combat Voldemort and his Death Eater's hit and run strategies, but even so they were an unsanctioned organization. There was only so much that could be accomplished through the use of carefully placed spies in the Ministry.

The Aurors themselves should have been a great asset, but their numbers had been severely depleted over the course of the war. The Ministry would be lucky to have more than fifty fighting for them, and half of those were still wet-behind-the-ears trainees

"Harry, my dear boy," Dumbledore lamented quietly. "Why did you have to turn to the darkness?" Just like the numerous previous times he had pondered the question, no answer was forthcoming. "Was it something that I did?"

Harry's face floated before him, lips drawn downward into an accusing, baleful glare. The emerald eyes were cold and hard, bereft of the sparkle that came from joy they had always held before. The mark of the silver serpent stood out in sharp contrast to his pale cheek. Dumbledore leaned back and closed his eyes, brow furrowed in misery.

Always before there had been some small hope, some glimmer that there was a chance, however slim, that the darkness could be beaten back. The prophecy had been that ray of hope that encouraged him throughout the first war almost two decades ago. Now, however, the prophecy had shown that itself false, and no new heroes were forthcoming. There was no tiny Harry Potter to stop the rise of the Dark Lord this time, and even if one did appear, Voldemort was prepared for it. He had learned his lesson well; this time someone would be there to take the Death Eaters in a firm, iron grip until Voldemort's spirit could be returned to a new body.

And that someone was Harry Potter.

* * *

A large wooden table in Harry's and Draco's room had papers strewn about it wildly. Together, the two were intently studying a magical map of the Ministry of Magic. Their heads lightly touched one another as they pointed out possible methods of entry.

"The problem is that they know we're coming. I mean, it's obvious that they're our next target. So we don't have surprise on our side."

"If I show up in Hogsmeade before the attack starts, however, then they'll probably send at least a dozen Aurors my way. That'll help not only catch them off guard, but it will also deplete the number of men they have available. But that still doesn't explain what we'll do for the main attack."

"There's two ways to go about it, I guess. Either a full-on frontal assault, or a small strategic attack team that could cripple the Ministry from the inside and then leave it open to the other Death Eaters."

"How many men do we have inside the Ministry right now? There's at least, what, five in every department?"

Draco nodded, "Something like that."

"We can use them to start the attack on the inside. That'll distract the Aurors quickly enough. Then we can bring in the rest of the troops from the outside."

"Two-pronged attack. It should work. The death toll will certainly be much lower this way, and it will be easier. It's a good thing that after this we won't have to worry about the Ministry exposing our spies as we will run the Ministry."

"And we can use that to our advantage." Harry grinned and Draco grinned right back. The two had discovered that they worked well together, bouncing ideas of the other and becoming far more productive as a unit than they could be separately. "If only I could be there to see it." Harry's voice was oddly wistful.

"I'll make sure to take pictures," Draco remarked dryly, causing both boys to laugh. "Besides, you'll be having fun in Hogsmeade. And after we take the Ministry it will only be a matter of weeks before we are ready to take on Hogwarts. Even Voldemort himself will be there for that attack."

"I suppose you're right," Harry consented. "Still, after all the trouble the Ministry's caused me, it would be nice to have some first-hand revenge."

"I'll make sure that not a single one of those foolish Ministry officials survives. I'll kill them all myself if I have to," Draco promised.

"Aww," Harry whined, a mock look of disappointment on his face, "can't you bring back just a couple for me to torture?"

* * *

"Excellent!" Ron said, pointing to the notice posted in the common room. "Hogsmeade weekend on Saturday! I'm glad they decided not to cancel them."

Hermione nodded, paying attention with only half her mind. "We could use the break. We've been spending so much time studying lately-"

Ron interrupted, "What's this? Even Hermione thinks we've been spending too much time studying? I can't believe it!" He hooted with laughter. Hermione swatted his arm.

"For your information, I do have a life beyond academics."

"Really?" Ron asked with a suggestive grin on his face. "Then what are you doing tonight?"

"Studying," came the succinct reply.

Ron groaned. "I think you just missed my point entirely."

"I understood your point well enough, Ronald Weasley. But if you think I'm going to spend my evening snogging with you when their is a Transfiguration test tomorrow-"

"How 'bout you study for five minutes and then snog for ten?"

In spite of herself, Hermione laughed. "You never give up, do you?"

"Nope," Ron answered with a roguish grin.

"After I'm done studying, then maybe..." she conceded with a grin. "We can grab the invisibility cloak and-" Ron's smile faded instantly to be replaced with a look of stony anger. "Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry, I forgot!"

"It's alright, Hermione," he answered through clenched teeth. "It's not your fault. It's his." However, the mood in the room darkened and refused to brighten again that night.

* * *

Fred and George Weasley counted themselves lucky; they were still alive. Diagon Alley, and their small store along with it, was in the hands of the Death Eaters. The twins had fought valiantly, but had both been dropped by stunning spells early in the battle, when it still appeared as if their side might be able to hold out.

The twins were dirty and bruised, their faces smeared with soot they had received as they had helped to evacuate the younger children through the Floo network. They were crowded into a secure holding cell along with fifty or other victims of the Diagon Alley attack, all of them in about the same state as Fred and George.

A few stared about blankly at the Death Eaters taunting them from their secure positions out of the reach of the prisoner's groping hands, almost as if they could not believe what had happened. In a way, George agreed with them; this all did seem surreal.

None of the people talked, except to mutter scant words of comfort to the young children. The reassurances, as good as the intentions of those who delivered them were, meant nothing when the adult's voice shook in terror and they sounded as if they could not even convince themselves that they would be safe.

After at least a day of squatting uncomfortably on the cold stone floor, Death Eaters came and removed all the children. Some of the parents fought, biting and shrieking and kicking, but they were quickly subdued by judicious use of the Death Eaters' wands.

The adults waited in trepidation, fully aware that the best fate awaiting them was death.

"Move!" one of the Death Eaters commanded suddenly, opening the jail cell and herding the prisoners through long twisted corridors like they were a herd of hippogriffs. The Death Eaters hexed those who stumbled or hesitated from fatigue and lack of adequate nutrition, cackling maniacally as they did so.

George snarled at them, which earned him a mild pain curse that sent him crashing forward into the ancient man in front of him. He cursed loudly and helped the man up, glaring at the Death Eaters.

None of the prisoners were prepared for what awaited them at the end of their long walk. They were ushered into Voldemort's throne room and brought face to face with Voldemort himself.

The Dark Lord was lounging comfortably on his throne, a sly, serpentine smile upon his chalk-white face. Another figure was seated in a smaller throne to Voldemort's left, though the hood of their red robe was drawn up and the face hidden. Draco Malfoy sat in front of the smaller throne, eyeing the prisoners with equal amounts of disgust and exhilaration.

"Where are our children?" a man with a very prominent chin demanded.

"You can relax. They are being well taken care of by most loyal Death Eaters and will be instructed on how they will fit into my new order." Voldemort smirked at the outraged faces of the prisoners. "Your children are now mine, and I shall do with them as I see fit."

"You can't brainwash them!" a distraught mother screeched, throwing herself at the Dark Lord. The figure on the smaller throne raised his right hand and she stopped mid-lunge, mouth hanging open in shock.

"You will not touch Lord Voldemort," the man on the throne informed her gravely. George thought that the voice sounded almost familiar. The man made another gesture and the woman was thrown back, this time screaming in pain as she was held under the Cruciatus curse.

Voldemort raised one eyebrow as the woman's shrieks faded to dry sobs of pain. "Would any one else like to add anything?" he taunted cruelly. The prisoners said nothing though George noticed plenty of clenched fists. At his side, Fred was watching the Dark Lord intently, hate evident in his dark eyes.

Voldemort turned to the man at his side. "Are there any you know?" The figure stood up gracefully and pushed back his hood. George gasped in spite of himself. Staring calmly at the prisoners was the face of Harry Potter, but this was not the same innocent boy that George remembered. Instead, his face was jaded and cruel.

Harry began to prowl among the prisoners, examining each person carefully. Most of the witches and wizards recognized the Boy-Who-Lived and choked on stunned exclamations of dismay and disbelief.

Harry halted in front of the twins. "Fred, George," he greeted, sounding for all the world as if they were just passing on the street, "it's wonderful to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same," Fred growled, glaring at Harry.

Harry just grinned and for a second George could see the boy that he used to be beneath the icy exterior. The moment passed quickly, though, and he was left confronting his one-time friend.

"Now the question is what to do with you," Harry thought aloud, tapping one finger against his lips thoughtfully. "After all, I haven't seen you in such a long time. We really must have a nice long chat."

"We don't converse with traitorous bastards like you," George ground out slowly.

"That's really too bad for you then. But I think I'll let my master decide to do with you." Harry whirled around and if George could have sworn that Potter almost _skipped_ back to his throne. Malfoy, still seated on the dais, gazed at them coolly, but his eyes flickered with sadistic amusement.

"As you can see, you fools," Voldemort began, addressing the gathered crowd of prisoners. "Even the Boy-Who-Lived, your precious saviour, has joined me. You have no hope." He paused to let this sink in. "And so I offer you the ultimatum; join me or die."

Figuring that he was as good as dead anyway, George commented sarcastically, "Isn't that a bit cliched?"

"Do not mock the Dark Lord!" Harry roared, springing to his feet and whipping out his wand. "Crucio!" George collapsed in pain, his entire body raging with flames that seemed to burn and freeze simultaneously.

"Stop it!" Fred shouted, coming to his twin's defense. He made a wild grab for Harry, almost loosing his balance. He regained his footing quickly and punched Potter squarely in the face. His knuckles felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone tearing into each other.

"You will not touch Harry!" Draco bellowed as he too pulled out his wand. Within seconds both twins were writhing on the ground, clutching their heads as the pain increased. Every time they took a shallow breath it was as if their lungs would burst and their throats explode from the sheer torturous fire that raced through their body.

"Enough!" the Dark Lord called after several minutes that felt like days. Potter and Malfoy obeyed his command instantly, like the well-trained dogs they were. Harry touched his nose gingerly, and his hand came away bloody. Except for grimacing a bit in disgust, however, he ignored the pain.

"My offer is still open to all of you except for those two Muggle-lovers. Consider it carefully."

"We'll never join you!" a voice called out firmly, and was soon joined by a clamor of others. "We'd rather die!" they shouted, voices rising to make a noisy din. "Go ahead and kill us."

"If you would martyr yourselves, by all means, do not let me deter you. Before you die, however, I will take away the small comfort that you are dying for a cause. Soon their will be no one left for your deaths to inspire." The crowd shuffled uneasily but no one changed their mind. "Very well."

Voldemort waved his hand, and instantly the Death Eaters lining the room sent Avada Kedavra after Avada Kedavra spinning into the thick mass of prisoners. One by one they all fell until they were nothing more than a pile of corpses.

The cadavers were quickly disposed of before the bodies even had a chance to cool. Fred and George were left alone and vulnerable in the middle of the floor. Slowly they helped each other into low crouches, but they could not manage to stand.

"Your defiance has cost you a quick and merciful death," Voldemort informed them. "But do not fear, you will join your friends soon enough. Harry, see to it."

"With pleasure, my lord," Harry responded, rising and bowing.

George looked up at Harry who towered above him. "I hope that when you die there will be no one to cry over your rotting corpse. You'll be picked apart by vultures and immortalized in history as the worst kind of turncoat and villain there ever was."

"You forget," Harry said silkily, "that the history books are never written by the losers."

"We won't lose to you," Fred joined in, voice blazing with rebellion as red hot as his hair. "The Darkness can never vanquish the Light."

"Well, we'll have our go at it. In any event, you won't be around to see how it all turns out."

* * *

_Harry stumbled as he was roughly shoved into the cell, cradling his left forearm protectively. The Dark Mark stood out boldly against his pale skin, the edges crisp and burnt. His entire arm ached fiercely and the area around the Mark was puffy and red._

_"Why me?" he wailed silently. "Why couldn't Voldemort just have gone after Neville instead? Why did he have to pick me?"_

_For the first time in his entire life he felt like crying and then collapsing and refusing to continue any further. Even over the summers when he had been abused by the Dursleys, even immediately after Sirius' death he wanted to live at the very least. Now he was considering quitting completely._

_What use was he to anyone, stuck here in this inescapable jail cell where no one could find him? He did not have his wand and even the protection that came from his mother's sacrifice had left him. He had no one to turn to and nothing to look for._

_Negative feelings washed over him like the water rushing up to high tide. Bit by bit he felt pieces of himself begin to float away as the thoughts of despair and helplessness abated for a moment, only to return stronger than ever. At this rate he would be insane in a matter of days._

_Voldemort had to choose that exact moment to activate the Dark Mark. Harry howled in pain, clutching his arm. What was he supposed to do about the summons anyway? He did not know how to Apparate and he doubted anyone could hear his screams of torment or bother to check on him if they did._

_"Curse you, Voldemort," he spat, massaging his chafing arm. "Curse you and your father and your ancestors, all the way back to Slytherin himself." The pain let up slowly until Harry was able to breathe normally again. _

_The hidden door to his cell was pulled open and a few thug-like Death Eaters entered the small confines. "We're going to have some fun!" they told one another stupidly, grinning at each other like schoolboys delighting in pulling the wings of an insect. Harry screamed until he lost consciousness, and even then his mouth remained open in mute testament to the agony inflicted upon him._


	4. Chapter Four

_"Polyjuice Potion would have worn off by now. We've checked for every single appearance-altering charms that we know of, and he's not under any of them. He must be who he claims to be."_

_"Yes, but the question still remains: why would he escape now? Voldemort had no reason to keep him alive, and yet here he is before us. I know that he has a knack for surviving when he shouldn't, but this is pushing things."_

_Harry dimly heard the voices and struggled to open his eyes. He felt like he had been kicked by a hippogriff. His vision was blurry, and he barely managed to focus on the three figures before him. _

_"Professors!" he cried. "What's going on?"_

_"Where have you been, Harry?" Dumbledore asked in a brisk, almost pleasant voice. His tone, however, had a hard edge to it that he tried hard to keep hidden._

_"I've been Voldemort's prisoner, and I only just managed to escape and-" He tried to lift his arm to brush his fringe out of his eyes and found that he could not. He attempted to move his arms again and found himself struggling against firm bonds. "What's this about?"_

_"Harry, we need to know exactly what happened."_

_"Why am I tied up? I haven't done anything!" Dumbledore and Snape looked at him as if he was an idiot and McGonagall studied the floor intently. Suddenly, everything clicked. "You think I'm a Death Eater, don't you?" He choked on the words, disbelief liberally laced through them._

_"Now, Harry-" Dumbledore began, raising one withered hand in a calming gesture._

_"I've been against Voldemort for my entire life and all of a sudden you think I would just up and join him! Him and his stupid cronies _beat_ me and tortured me. They killed my parents, in case you've bloody forgotten!"_

_"We are aware of that, Mr. Potter," Snape retorted snarkily. "The fact remains that you have shown up in rather suspicious circumstances. Why would the Dark Lord suddenly relax enough to allow you to escape after you've been his prisoner for a month?"_

_"I don't care why, the fact is that it happened."_

_"Surely you must understand that we are only being appropriately cautious," McGonagall half-begged. "There are too many uncertainties in these dark times, and we can only trust so much."_

_Harry felt white-hot rage begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach. His eyes grew dark and his expression hardened. "If, after all this time, you can't trust me, then I don't see why I ever bothered fighting for you in the first place."_

_

* * *

_

Hogsmeade stretched out before him and he grinned at the thought of all of the foolish students who would be hurrying around in the bitter November wind, laughing and enjoying themselves. In the distance he could see the last of the group entering the outskirts of the village.

Harry set off quickly, eagerly anticipating his reunion with his "friends". No one paid any attention to the short teenager in the black robe except to flash him a welcoming grin. For a moment he was thankful for the harsh gusts of wind which forced most of the townsfolk to pull up their own hoods; it made the fact that he kept his face shadowed deep within his cowl only a matter of passing notice.

Soon he would have his revenge, he reminded himself. To be sure, the Dark Lord had commanded that he not actually murder anyone, but even with that rather disappointing restriction he still had plenty of room to deal with Weasley and Granger as he pleased.

A little girl was attempting to fly on a child's broomstick and losing the battle against the fierce winds. She was blown about wildly but she maintained a look of extreme concentration and refused to give up. Her pigtails blew wildly about her head.

She looked up and saw Harry, who pulled back his hood just slightly. She meeped quietly in sudden terror, forgetting that she was trying to fly. Suddenly, she was blown into a nearby tree, her skull cracking nastily. Blood trickled out of her nose.

"Bloody hell!" Harry cursed, rushing over to her and kneeling down beside her. "Please don't be dead, I only meant to scare you a bit!"

The little girl coughed and slowly opened her eyes. "Ah!" she cried, frightened.

"It's okay, I'm sorry to have scared you-"

"Don't kill me, Mr. Potter, sir, please don't kill me! I didn't do anything! Please, please!" Her piteous wails plucked at heartstrings that he had thought were long gone.

"I'm not going to hurt you!" he responded forcefully. The girl quieted, but the look of a cornered animal did not leave her eyes. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?"

"T... Terra," she stammered, dark brown hair falling into her face.

"That's a pretty name," Harry commented gently, before grimacing. What was he doing? He was the Dark Heir and here he was comforting some child like... like a Gryffindor! Still, he could not help the way he felt. "Terra, you should get out of here, now. Don't tell anyone you saw me, just leave. It won't be safe here any longer. But don't worry, I'll make sure no one harms you."

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," Harry answered, smiling slightly in response to her own slight grin.

"Oh, thank you!" Terra cried, launching herself at Harry and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Mummy said you were a bad man, but I don't think you're that bad!"

Harry stiffened at the sudden hug, but relaxed slightly, patting her on the back. "I am bad, Terra. I'm just not a monster." The girl looked confused but Harry pried her off of him and set her down. Without a backwards glance he set off towards the milling groups of Hogwarts students.

Terra would not understand until much later what he had meant, but she would remember her encounter with Harry Potter for her entire life. She would be one of the few to ever understand him.

* * *

Ron and Hermione scurried through Hogsmeade, heading for the Three Broomsticks where they could escape from the cold. Neville and Ginny had promised to meet up with them there, though Hermione privately suspected that the two would forget and spend the afternoon snogging in some secluded corner of the town.

Hermione shivered as a freezing gust of wind cut through her cloak and caused goosebumps to form on her skin. Ron, seeing the motion, wrapped one arm around her shoulders. Although his body did not have much heat to give, she still appreciated the gesture.

She sighed, leaning into the embrace. "Why did things have to end up like this, Ron? The world's crashing down around us."

"It's all his fault. In the end, it all comes back to him." Ron's voice was bitter.

"But what happened to him, Ron? What did we do wrong that made him into that monster?"

Ron stopped suddenly, whirling Hermione about until she stood in front of him. He placed his large hands on her shoulders and looked at her intently. "It's not your fault Hermione; it's his. It was his decision to turn Dark, and you had nothing to do with it. You can't keep blaming yourself for what that monster does."

Hermione was just about to reply when a cold voice cut in. "You think _I'm_ a monster?"

"Harry!" Hermione wailed.

"You stay away from her, you bastard," Ron warned, drawing his wand. Harry ignored him and walked slowly towards Hermione. "Get back! I'll hex you."

Harry stopped his approach. "As if you could do anything to me, Weasley." His pale face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Or are you forgetting when you tried to curse Draco in second year? Do you really want to burp slugs again?"

"My wand was broken and you know it!" Ron snapped, face flushing crimson in remembered embarrassment. "And it's Draco now, is it? Why didn't you just take his hand when he offered it to you? You would have saved us all a lot of trouble if you had just revealed yourself as a traitor then."

"You should not talk about things you don't understand, Weasley; it makes you look even more foolish than you already are." Ron coloured again, but this time he could not find a retort.

"Stop it, Harry! Stop insulting him!" Hermione stomped one foot against the ground and planted her hands firmly on her hips. "He's a million times better than you are."

"Why is it that he can call me monster and bastard and yet I can't call him a fool?"

"Because he's not some traitorous git, that's why!"

"I was the one who was betrayed!" Harry roared, startling Hermione, who jumped backwards. "I finally escape after having been tortured for an entire month, and everyone just jumps to the conclusion that I must be a Dark Wizard. I spent over a decade fighting against Voldemort, but apparently my actions were still suspect!"

"You had the Dark Mark!" Hermione argued, eyes narrowed the way they always were when she had to point out something painstakingly obvious.

"I didn't ask for the bloody thing to be put on my arm! At that point I still believed, mistakenly, that I had friends who I should be trying to protect."

"Everyone knows that you can't get the Dark Mark unless you want it! You had to have wanted it, otherwise the incantation wouldn't have worked."

"Stop trying to trick us with your lies, you filthy Death Eater scum!" Ron added, eyes stormy with rage.

"Maybe that's how it works with other people, but I've always been an exception, now haven't I, Granger?"

"You can't break rules of magic. That's like flaunting gravity." Hermione, despite her brilliance, was still too much of a scientific thinker to realise that some things could not be explained simply, if at all.

"This cut on my head is more than just a scar. It's a direct connection to Voldemort, or have you forgotten?"

"What does that have to do with this?" Ron asked obtusely.

"Figure it out for yourself," Harry responded irritably.

"You can't just not tell us!"

"I can and I will. Or are you forgetting who I am now, who you made me become? I am the Heir to Lord Voldemort, and his servant. I don't have to do anything a Mudblood like you tells me to, Granger."

"Take that back!" Ron and Hermione both shrieked together.

"When are you two going to realise that you are not dealing with some little schoolboy pest?" Harry wondered aloud. "What do I have to do to show you that this is no joking matter?" He grinned, showing two rows of white teeth. "I know! I'll have a little fun. Crucio!"

Harry had intended for the curse to hit Hermione, but Ron jumped in front of her at the last second, saving his girlfriend temporarily, but cursing himself. The redhead's screams ripped through the air. Although before the passerby had thought that the three were merely having a common juvenile spat, the introduction of one of the Unforgivables drew their attention.

"Death Eater!" they screamed. The more sensible ones rushed indoors, perhaps to make an emergency firecall to the Ministry, while others stood around gaping. A few fools drew their wands, but as soon as they began to wave them about Harry disarmed them without even looking in their direction.

"Bloody hell!" they cursed, staring at the boy in fearful awe. All of them were secretly doubting that anyone, even the right hand of You-Know-Who himself could be that powerful.

Aurors in swirling white robes began to Apparate onto the wide avenue, wands pointed at Harry, who merely smirked mockingly. "I was wondering when you would show up. Now my fun is truly about to begin."

* * *

A mile away from the village of Hogsmeade, Albus Dumbledore was jarred from his deep study of an ancient scroll by the loud wailing of an dark magic sensor. Checking in with the Hogwarts wards instinctively, he was relieved to note that nothing was wrong within the castle. He then began to systematically check through the various locations where he had alarms set up, and it did not take him long to find the source.

"Merlin," he breathed, rubbing his long white beard worriedly. "The students will have almost no protection, and they are unprepared. We had no warning of this attack."

Dumbledore sprang into action with the speed of a much younger man. An alarm was raised that would immediately alert all the teachers of the emergency through their connection with the school. Within five minutes every single professor, including Trewlaney, was assembled just inside the entrance to the school.

A few second years looked at the teachers suspiciously but continued on their way after noticing looks that promised long hours of detention if they were disturbed. "Hogsmeade is under attack by Death Eaters," Dumbledore explained quickly. "Although I don't know how many, I'd say there were at least a dozen by the sheer magical strength that is being detected."

"But Albus, the students..." McGonagall gasped, grasping the implications immediately. "We've got to go help them."

"And we shall. However, several of you must stay behind and guard the younger students. This attack, after all, could merely be a diversion to draw us all off from Hogwarts." Flitwick, Trewlaney, and the Muggle Studies professor volunteered and the rest set off for Hogsmeade, expecting the worst.

Dumbledore continued to brief them as they hurried along the twisted path to the village. "Aurors should already have arrived at the scene, but there are too few of them now to make much of a difference. We must protect the students at all costs!" The faculty nodded their heads in fervent agreement, drawing their wands as they finally rounded the last corner and entered the village.

The sight that met their eyes totally stunned them.

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were writhing on the ground, mute screams erupting from their mouths and bodies shining with sweat. Harry Potter stood over them, blocking the curses of three dozen Aurors and still finding the time to return a few curses of his own. No other Death Eaters were in sight.

A few of the professors let out creative explicitives that in any other circumstances would have sounded rather funny when coming out of such dignified personages. Given the situation, however, the crass words seemed entirely appropriate.

"Dumbledore! Professors!" Harry called out jovially, saluting them sarcastically with one arm while shooting the Killing Curse at an Auror with the other. "So nice of you to join the fun!" His green eyes were wide with sadistic pleasure and a satisfied smirk rested lightly upon his lips.

"Harry, please, stop this now," Dumbledore commanded gently, persuasive magic lacing his words. To his surprise, Harry just laughed, not even faltering.

"Those mind tricks may have worked on me when I was an ignorant fool, Dumbledore, but I'm beyond your power now. I've surpassed you in every way imaginable." To prove his point he downed five Aurors in a matter of seconds. Despite the amazing use of magic, he did not even appear slightly fazed.

"Harry, I am going to have to take you into custody until the Ministry can deal with you. You will undoubtedly be sentenced to life in Azkaban, but because of your youth, you may escape the Dementor's Kiss. However, if you turn yourself in, you could save yourself."

Harry chortled. "The threat of the Dementors is pointless, Dumbledore. I can control them easily. And your Ministry is far too busy with its own problems for them to hold a trial for me. And you're assuming that you could capture me."

"You are underestimating the powers of the Light side, Harry. You are far outnumbered. Besides, do you really think that you can defeat me when I have known you for most of your life?"

Harry laughed again, and this time it was almost identical to Voldemort's mirth, although in a lower pitch. "You created me so you can destroy me, right Dumbledore? Well, you may have created a heroic figurehead to place at the head of your army and stand for the light, but I turned from that path a long time ago. You don't understand me or know me any better than that idiot Fudge did when I was still in school."

"Harry, if you would just listen-" Harry cut the wizened old wizard off sharply.

"No, you listen, Dumbledore. I am not your 'precious Potter' or your 'Gryffindor Golden Boy'. I realized the sheer stupidity of those roles a long time ago. You think I didn't notice in fourth year when you looked relieved when I told you that Voldemort was resurrected? I may not have gotten it at the time, but I figured it out soon enough."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, trying to remain calm, but his trembling voice betrayed his sudden nervousness.

"You needed Voldemort to come back, didn't you Dumbledore? I'm sure you could have stopped Crouch at any time, but then Voldemort wouldn't have been able to come back as easily. Without Voldemort, the publics opinion of you was beginning to wane. They were beginning to realize that perhaps Dumbledore wasn't the great hero they had always thought him to be after all. But with a clear opposition, you could once again unite the Wizarding world behind you to fight a common foe."

"Harry..." Dumbledore growled.

"Ashamed of what you did? I would be if I were you. You're worse than me, Dumbledore. All I'm doing is seeking revenge against those who turned against me. You, though, you started a war to increase your own power base for no other reason that you had grown comfortable in your role as benevolent hero and you didn't like it when the masks of lies began to be stripped away."

The last of the Aurors fell lifeless to the ground as Harry locked eyes with Dumbledore, silently daring him to deny the seemingly ludicrous charges. "Go ahead, tell them all I'm lying," Harry urged. "That's what you're about to do, isn't it? Then you'll tell them how I'm mentally unstable, reminding them of all those ridiculous visions and panic attacks I've had over the years, won't you? So go ahead, Dumbledore, we're all waiting." Harry crossed his arms across his chest and shifted his weight from side to side impatiently.

Dumbledore gaped at the young man. Harry had grown impressively intuitive over the past year, to have determined all of that. Dumbledore found himself unable to say a single word in his own defense.

"Why aren't you saying anything Dumbledore? Could it be because it's all _true_?" Harry pressed eagerly.

"Everything I have done has been in the best interests of the Wizarding community," Dumbledore finally ground out.

"Sure it was. Which is why you always made sure that the interests of the Wizarding community always ran parallel to your interests."

"Harry, we do not have the time to stand here bandying words about all day. Now I insist that you release Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley from the Crucio curse and surrender yourself to us."

"No," Harry said simply, voice firm with conviction.

"Very well then," Dumbledore responded with an air of feigned sadness and regret, motioning for the teachers to begin the attack.

* * *

Draco finished instructing the Death Eaters assembled in the Dark Lord's throne room, though his thoughts were secretly with Harry. He hoped that the shorter boy was okay and that he did not allow himself to become too irate over the idiocy of Dumbledore and his Muggle-loving cronies. When Harry was angry, things tended to explode and his magic tended to do unpredictable things. Although the thought of a pink skinned Dumbledore complete with flashing neon purple hair and a ballerina outfit was appealing in a twisted sort of way (though the mental image repulsed him), Harry took weeks to calm down.

"You will go forth and conquer the Ministry," the Dark Lord was saying. "Succeed and you will be well rewarded. There is no room for failure. We are close to our complete victory, my servants. Soon the world will be held firmly in our hands and we will expunge the filth that is Muggles and Mudbloods from it forever."

Cheers erupted from the crowd, but Voldemort quieted the group with a few lazy gestures. "Tonight is one of the last stages of the grand plan. By tonight, almost all of Britain will be under our direct control. From here, the world will soon fall."

This time the group of loyal followers began chanting loudly, promising the downfall of the Ministry and the rise of Voldemort in its wake. The room was blazing with emotion and firm belief in the ideas that Voldemort preached. Electricity seemed to spring from one person to the next, firing up their minds and encouraging their fervor.

Draco reveled in the torrent of emotions rolling off of the crowd, feeling their eagerness and sense that they were about to accomplish something which would set them apart and earn them their place in history. He felt much the same way, but his joy was dampened by Harry's absence. harry should be there to share this with him.

Although the reasoning of the Dark Lord for their separation was sound and Draco was intelligent enough not to argue with his master, it did not stop him from regretting that the action was necessary. So he only half-smiled and did not join in the frenzied chanting and clapping and stamping of feet.

The din was reaching almost unbearable levels before the Dark Lord quieted his followers once more. "You will have plenty of time to celebrate after you have won," he reminded them lightly, "but for now you have a task to accomplish. The Ministry may be foolish, but there will still be some opposition. You, my Death Eaters, are easily up to the task."

More cheers, this time in favor of the Dark Lord's favourable opinion of them. "Master!" they called out, prostrating themselves in front of Voldemort. Though their masks hid their faces Draco could easily identify each one from the way they moved. Surprisingly, his father was near the back of the group, among those who had not been in favour with the Dark Lord recently. He frowned for a minute, considering the matter, then promptly dismissed it, vowing to find out what was going on a t a later, more convenient time.

Voldemort smiled down at his followers almost fondly, before dismissing them all. The group bowed to the Dark Lord before Apparating away, Draco leading them.

The Ministry of Magic swirled into existence in front of him. Already dozens of Ministry workers were rushing out of the exits in an attempt to escape the vicious attacks of Death Eaters from inside the building. However, they only met with the recent reinforcements.

The Ministry of Magic employees were effectively trapped, and the slaughter began.

* * *

_"What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm not a Death Eater?" Harry demanded furiously after long hours of intense arguing. His eyes and mind were dull from the effort and all he wanted to do was collapse into the realm of well-deserved peaceful dreams._

_"I'm afraid that we simply can't trust you, Harry," Dumbledore replied calmly, a hint of sadness in his voice._

_"Why the hell not?" Harry's brow furrowed darkly and his ebony eyebrows drew together to mask his face in fury, hiding the hurt that he felt inside. He was being betrayed by the man he had trusted with everything! _

_"The circumstances of your arrival are rather suspicious, as you yourself must know. No one has ever before managed to escape from Voldemort's inner sanctum, and yet you show up on the Hogwarts grounds claiming to have done exactly that. It is clear that you must have been allowed to escape."_

_"I don't care if I was allowed to escape! What does it matter? All I can tell you is that I'm not a Death Eater."_

_"Harry, you must admit that there is no reason for us to believe you," McGonagall reasoned, shaking her head back and forth, almost as if she secretly wished he were telling the truth._

_"You don't understand. This is why Voldemort sent me back! He told me you would react this way, especially when you saw the-" Harry promptly cut himself off, mentally smacking himself in the head. Why did he have to allow his anger to control him? He had just handed them the evidence they needed to damn him!_

_"See what, Harry?" Snape asked in his silky smooth voice._

_"Nothing!" he denied vehemently. "All I was saying was that Voldemort wants you to react this way, he's expecting it, counting on it even."_

_"Do you really expect us to believe that this is all some elaborate plot to turn your friends against you so that you in turn will turn against them and join the Dark Lord?" Snape sounded incredulous, and his black eyes spoke volumes about his confidence that this was the case._

_"Yes!" Harry insisted doggedly._

_"What is it, then, that we are supposed to see?"_

_"I told you, it's nothing!" A panicked edge crept into his voice and betrayed his falsehood._

_The Dark Mark began to burn around the edges, causing Snape and Harry to wince in pain. Harry's right hand drifted to his left forearm subconsciously and he began to rub the irritated skin. Snape caught the motion and darted forward, snatching at his arms._

_The sleeve of his robe was roughly shoved back, revealing the Dark Mark that glowed darkly against his pale skin. "I didn't want it! Voldemort just put it on me!" Harry told them, but even McGonagall's eyes were cold and disbelieving._


	5. Chapter Five

_"Come to gloat, Malfoy?" Harry asked bitterly as the slim blonde slipped into his dungeon cell. "You've been waiting for this day for a long time, haven't you? Harry Potter, locked up in chains and vilified to the point where even his best friends hate him."_

_Malfoy just stood there, gazing at the stiff body of the other boy with his cool silver eyes before responding. "I didn't come here to gloat." His voice wavered a bit as if he really was not certain why he had come._

_"Sure you didn't. What do you want to call it then? Look, Malfoy, I've put up with enough in the past couple weeks that I don't need you compounding the problem. Why don't you just leave and revel in your victory somewhere else?"_

_"I didn't come here to gloat, Potter, I came here to free you." Draco's expression and tone were serious, but Harry burst out laughing all the same._

_"Malfoy, do you really expect me to believe that? You can't possibly be here to free me."_

_"Just like Dumbledore would never turn his back on the little Gryffindor hero?" Draco pointed out shrewdly. Harry clamped his mouth shut tightly. "Look, Potter, I'm not relishing the task either, but that's what I've been ordered to do."_

_"Ordered? Who ordered it?" Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration. "No one wants me free." _

_"The Dark Lord, of course, you Gryffindor idiot." Malfoy rolled his eyes, an odd gesture on the normally self-possessed young man. _

_"Please. Voldemort doesn't want to free me, he wants to kill me."_

_"Look, Potter, the reasons weren't explained to me at the time. All I know is that I'm supposed to free you and take you to Voldemort. That's it, but it's enough for me." Malfoy crossed his arms at his chest and shifted his weight irritably. "Are you going to cooperate or not? I am trying to help you!"_

_"I'd rather stay here and rot than go with Death Eater scum like you!" Harry claimed boldly._

_"From what I hear," Malfoy calmly remarked with a satisfied smirk, "you're the one with the Dark Mark."_

_"Why you little bastard!" Harry raged. "I should-"_

_"Have you forgotten that you're tied up in that chair and you have no wand? You can't do anything to me, Potter. Now I'm going to untie you and remove the magic surrounding you, and then we're going to take this portkey to the Dark Lord's palace. And you're going to behave or I'll hex you so hard you won't remember your own thrice-blasted name."_

_"Fine," Harry assented grudgingly, though his eyes shone with a sly light._

_Draco magicked the ropes away and began to disassemble the various charms helping to keep him securely locked in place. As soon as they were gone, Malfoy offered a hand to help Harry up. Harry took it, using his slight weight to throw Malfoy to the ground. Without looking back, he set off running._

_

* * *

_

Harry smirked from behind his protective shield, watching as the professors threw curse after curse at the glowing, iridescent force field. However, instead of weakening the shield as they should have done, the magical energy of the spells was merely channeled to make the shield that more powerful.

"Stop!" Dumbledore ordered curtly. The professors stopped their hexes instantly but did not lower their wands. "There has to be some other way to break it!"

"You can have fun trying, Dumbledore," Harry taunted, eyes half-lidded and body comfortably positioned, almost as if he were draped on the air itself. "Nothing yet has been shown to break that shield."

"Everything, and everyone, has its weakness," Dumbledore responded levelly, eyeing Harry calmly.

"And I suppose you think you know mine?" Harry asked, laughing at his former mentor. "Let me assure you, Headmaster, you know nothing about me." Dumbledore raised a single eyebrow in challenge. "I, on the other hand, know plenty about you. For example, the only reason you are engaging me in this lovely conversation is you think it will distract me enough to lower my guard."

Dumbledore fought not to gape at the young wizard. The Harry he had known did not pick up on minute things like that; he was guided by his feelings instead of his mind. This new Harry, this unknown force, however, surveyed everything critically.

"So just what do you think you know about me, Dumbledore?" Harry wondered with a smile on his face, an expression that uncomfortably reminded Dumbledore of a young Tom Riddle. "Please, I'd just love to know."

"Must we play these mind games, Harry?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Oh, but of course. After all, you had plenty of time to poke and prod me while I was a student at your school. Now it's my turn to have a spot of fun."

"If you insist." Dumbledore bowed slightly, but their was no respect in the gesture. "First off, you believe that you are beyond caring about anything anymore."

"I wouldn't say that. I care about a great many things, but none of them have anything to do with you. I suppose you think that all Death Eaters are heartless bastards. If that's the case, where did all their children come from? Just because a person opposes what mortals term 'the good side' does not mean that they are immediately stripped of all compassion."

"An interesting observation, my boy-"

"I am not your boy any longer. I was your pawn, your marionette, for long enough. I'm my own person now."

"You serve Voldemort," Dumbledore spat.

"Yes. I do. But I am still my own person. I was not forced to give my allegiance to Voldemort; it was my choice. Therefore I still remain myself and I belong only to myself... and one other." Even though Draco was not here he did not want to offend him.

"And who is this other?"

"If you know me so well, why don't you tell me?" Harry challenged, eyes lighting up with merriment.

* * *

Draco had to give the Death Eaters their due credit. After only a half hour of intense fighting the majority of the Ministry of Magic was theirs. Only a few pockets of resistance, mainly in the Department of Law Enforcement, remained. Draco walked through the familiar corridor, remembering the first time his father had brought him here.

_He was a small, bright-eyed boy of five, solemn and regal as befitted the Malfoy name. He hurried to keep up with his father and struggle at the same time to maintain a stately gait. He stared in wonder at the dozens of witches and wizards around him, watching eagerly as they went about their business with hardly a glance at the well-dressed boy._

_"Do all these people work here?" he asked breathlessly, quite taken away by the marvel._

_"Of course," his father said, frowning slightly. "The magical community is no small, insignificant thing, Draco. It needs many people to keep it working."_

_"It's amazing," he noted. To him, the statues and murals of witches in wizards in various situations of unity seemed larger than life and quite fantastic._

_"It is merely a bureaucratic operation," his father scolded, scorn seeping into his deep voice. He stopped and pulled Draco to him, kneeling down to look into his son's eyes. "Understand this, Draco: the Ministry is made up of nothing more than petty politicians and Muggle-loving fools who are more interested in playing with their toys than in seeing to the survival of the Wizarding world. Someday, you'll help to change all that."_

_Draco nodded, but he was still awestruck._

Draco forced his mind away from those memories, instead concentrating on his father who now stood beside him, although this time their situations were somewhat reversed.

"I must say, Draco, that you did a fine job of it," Lucius Malfoy commented lightly, a faint note of surprise in his voice.

"Did you doubt that I could, father?" he queried coldly. Ever since he had been promoted and joined together with Harry, his father had been distant, even bitter. Draco was intelligent enough to realise that his father had seen him only as a way to earn favour with the Dark Lord. Now that Harry, along with Draco, had taken over his father's place, Lucius was hard to deal with.

"Some of the men were questioning whether or not an unproven boy not even old enough to have graduated from Hogwarts could succeed in planning and leading such a momentous attack." Lucius spoke slowly and emphasized his words so that it appeared as if Lucius had nothing to do with the talk. Draco suspected otherwise.

"I'm sure you had nothing to do with this, of course. The Dark Lord would be displeased to hear that his choice of leaders is distrusted."

"Of course," Lucius agreed slyly with narrowed eyes.

Draco turned away from his father and set off towards the center of the Ministry, crimson robes billowing behind him. His mind wandered as he passed monotonous stone walls. The only way he could tell that he was moving at all was because the scorch marks from vagrant spells were in different patterns as he progressed.

He hoped that Harry was alright. He knew, of course, that Harry was perfectly capable of handling himself in almost any situation, but that did not stop him from worrying. Although Harry was magically and physically strong, his emotional side was weakened by years of abuse and betrayal. If Harry ended up seeing Dumbledore, as Draco suspected he might, old wounds might be reopened.

He soon reached one of the Apparation points and proceeded to the Dark Lord's throne room. "The Ministry is yours, Master," he informed Voldemort after bowing.

"Excellent, excellent, my young serpent. You have truly done well. Now nothing stands between us and Hogwarts!"

* * *

"Are you growing tired of my little games already Dumbledore? Really, I would have expected more from you," Harry chided harshly, eyes dancing in wicked mirth.

Dumbledore did not answer the question, instead changing the topic. "What would your parents think of you, Harry? Surely they did not want their son to follow the man who murdered them."

"What does it matter what they think? They're dead, and it's no fault of mine. I never knew them. Why should I allow myself to be tied down by what my parents did. I am not my father."

"No," Dumbledore agreed sadly, "you're not James. You had the potential to be even greater than he was, and you just went and threw it all away."

"I didn't threw anything away, you ignorant fool. I seized an opportunity that was presented to me. I have never had cause to regret my decision and I can't foresee that anything would happen that would cause me to in the future."

"Even if you will feel no remorse in this world, Harry, perhaps you will in the next," the elderly wizard pointed out levelly.

"Was that supposed to be a death threat, old man?" Harry wondered, laughing.

"Merely an observation," he stated.

"Well, I'm afraid you'll never find out if your hypothesis is correct or not. I don't plan on dying anytime soon."

"Few people plan for those sorts of things, Harry. Death comes at us as it wills, and there is precious little we can do to stop it."

"As much magic as you may think you know, Dumbledore, you are still a purely Light magic wizard. There are ways, if one has the power and the knowledge of how to cast the rituals. Living forever is a very real possibility."

"One which I'm afraid I can not allow you to fulfill," Dumbledore warned, a dangerous gleam in his blue eyes. "The world would not be safe with you in it for so long. Unless, of course, you agreed to turn yourself in."

Harry cackled, a chortle eerily reminiscent of Voldemort's. "You yourself have told me that I would spend the rest of my days rotting in Azkaban if I did so, and yet you still expect me to turn myself in? What kind of fool do you think I am?"

"Not a fool," Dumbledore disagreed, "but someone who's light has not been totally extinguished, only deeply hidden and disguised. There is hope for you yet."

"And I suppose there's hope for the Voldemort as well?" Sarcasm practically dripped off every word. "If you ever chose to stand up for me, you would be playing the devil's advocate in a very real sense."

"There is even hope for the devil." Dumbledore's voice was firm with a quiet conviction that remained unshattered despite the fact that Harry laughed, guessing the truth, that Dumbledore did not truly believe what he was saying and was merely acting. His eyes, however, dimmed slightly as he realized that the mob of professors were still no closer to breaking Harry's shield.

* * *

Draco walked slowly back to his room, muscles sore from the battle. He hoped that things had gone well for Harry, and that whoever he had seen had not said anything too upsetting to Harry. The fools seemed to have no connection between their minds and their mouths, if in fact they had any brains at all, something Draco seriously doubted.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally reached his room. He opened the door, but the room was dark. Perhaps Harry had fallen asleep waiting for him. He waved his wand to light some candles, but a quick scan of the room revealed that it was totally devoid of all human life.

"Where is he? He should be back by now," Draco muttered, exasperated. Extinguishing the candles, he hurried back the way he had come. Voldemort was still in his throne room, watching the torture of a few captured Ministry officials with excited eyes.

"Come to join the fun, my young serpent?" Voldemort asked, beckoning Draco forward when he caught sight of the boy.

"No, my lord, unless it is your desire that I do so."

Voldemort frowned at the uncharacteristic response. "What is troubling you?"

"Harry has yet to return and it is getting late."

Voldemort tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully. "So it is, so it is. Though I have no doubts that Harry can take care of himself, he is needed for other things. Go and fetch him, Draco. And hurry, for there is much to plan and we must begin immediately.

"Yes, my lord," Draco replied, bowing down formally and Apparating away to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. A light snow was beginning to drift down on the harsh winds, swirling about and making Draco shiver. He wrapped his crimson cloak tightly around him and set off down the deserted streets.

It seemed that everyone had chosen to take refuge inside, and there was no sound to be heard except for the loud clashes of battle in the distance. Every once in a while the air would light up with the blast of some spell.

As Draco neared the center of the village, the din of battle became even more pronounced. Within a few blocks he could see Harry, safely ensconced behind his shield. He was surrounded by almost every professor at Hogwarts and yet none of them seemed to be able to do a thing. Draco smirked. Harry was doing well.

Snape caught sight of Draco and shouted out to warn the others of the new threat. Harry whirled around, momentarily surprised.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the Ministry?" he asked. "What's happened?"

"The attack is already finished," Draco informed him, enjoying the looks of horror that passed among the staff of Hogwarts. "The Ministry is in our hands now."

"Excellent," Harry said, rubbing his hands together. "The plan worked, then?"

Draco nodded. "Exactly as planned. There is no more need for your diversion."

"But I was having so much fun," Harry pouted.

"A diversion?" Professor McGonagall demanded. "That's all this was, a diversion? You come here and torture your two best friends merely as a diversion. You are sick, Potter, truly sick. Do you think that this war is all a game? You are playing with people's lives here; this isn't some silly Quidditch match!"

"First off, Granger and Weasley are not my two best friends. They turned their backs on me a long time ago, and I see no reason to remain on cordial terms with backstabbers. And of course I realise how much is at stake here; why do you think I agreed to do this in the first place? Trust me, I would much rather be at the Ministry than having to suffer your company. If it helps you any, though, I am under orders not to actually kill anyone."

McGonagall sniffed. "I don't believe that helps at all, Potter."

Harry just shrugged. "I really don't care how you feel about the whole deal, as it makes no difference to me."

"I don't believe you have a soul for the Dementors to take, Potter."

Harry just grinned lopsidedly. "That's all the better for me then, isn't it?" He turned back towards Draco. "I'll be along in just a few moments. Unless, of course, you'd like to help?"

Draco smiled and nodded. "It will be my pleasure." Draco reached into his pocket for his wand.

* * *

Ginny Weasley left the small alley behind the one of the houses feeling flustered, her cheeks flaming red. Neville was a good snogger, she thought contentedly for the umpteenth time. Her thoughts dwelled fondly on her boyfriend and their time together. Neville, after several prolonged parting kisses, had left her to pick up a few things for Professor Sprout. They had agreed to meet at the Three Broomsticks, so she headed in that direction.

Suddenly she halted, noticing the empty streets for the first time. It was a Hogsmeade weekend; the cobblestone paths should be bursting with Hogwarts students about their various errands. Cocking her head to one side, she listened intently, hearing the distant sound of spells hitting a shield. Eyes widening in alarm, she burst into a quick sprint towards the battle.

She ground to a halt as soon as she saw the figure of Malfoy in her path. Without a thought in her head she drew her wand, planning to stop the Death Eater before he could hurt anyone else. Watching him intently, she saw him reach inside his dark red cloak for something. Taking careful aim, she fired of the stunning spell, and watched in satisfaction as his blonde head hit the ground with a loud thump.

* * *

Harry's face changed as he watched Draco fall limply to the street, his pale, silvery blonde hair rippling around his head like the rays of the weak sun. Light flecks of snow began to cover him where he lay, making him seem almost dead.

His blood boiled in his veins, hissing and steaming and begging for release. His mind shut down as his emotions took over. Looking through the falling snow he focused on the slight form of Ginny Weasley, wand still pointed towards her victim.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you thrice-cursed wench?" he roared, leaping forward, his shield dissipating into thin air around him. "What did you do to him you filthy little Muggle-loving whore?" Her large eyes widened and she froze in place, mouth agape as if about to utter a response. "You're a lowdown piece of scum, is what you are, attacking him from behind! You're going to pay for this, Weasley!"

"H... Harry," Ginny pleaded weakly. "I... I just stunned him. He's... perfectly fine. Don't do anything to me!" The last bit of control fled from her, leaving her sobbing and wailing as she fell to her knees.

Harry was too caught up in his blind rage to notice the terrified look on her face, too angry to think of the consequences of his actions. "Avada Kedavra!" he screamed, putting all of his hate and fury behind the Unforgivable curse.

The emerald light hit Ginny squarely on the chest and she toppled over, eyes wide and unseeing. Harry panted, gasping for breath in painful gulps that reminded him of how much raw power he had expended in that one spell. Harry hurried over to where Draco had collapsed, checking for a pulse and the slight rising and falling of his chest. Fortunately he found both.

"I'm afraid that this is it, Harry," Dumbledore warned from behind him. Harry had been so intent on assuring himself that Draco was fine that he had not registered the other's movement. "Either you surrender now or we will forcefully take you into custody."

"You got what you wanted Dumbledore," Harry answered bitterly. "Weasley and Granger aren't under the Cruciatus curse anymore. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get Draco to help."

"You can't just Apparate away from us, Harry."

"Watch me."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose at Harry's flat, expressionless tone. "You've mercilessly slaughtered over a score of people today, one of them a completely innocent child. You can not expect us to just let you go."

"I don't care how many people died. They were attacking me. And Ginny was no more innocent than any of the rest of you. She betrayed me as well. And she attacked Draco. She had to die." Harry was shocked that he was bothering to explain himself to Dumbledore of all people, but the words tumbled out of him in a torrent he could not dam. "I'll be punished enough for disobeying Voldemort's direct order as it is, without you doling out penances on top of it. Just go away and leave me alone."

Harry's voice shook and rose in pitch until it became the breathy squeak of a young child. The Dark wizard looked like a broken young child too, one who had dealt with far too much and was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. His emerald eyes were dead and haunted, but they still retained a guarded, suspicious expression.

"I'm sorry about this, my boy, truly I am," Dumbledore apologized. "But it has to be done. For the good of everybody."

"Go away!" Harry shrieked, stumbling to his feet and attempting to flee, dragging Draco's inert form along with him.

"Stupefy!"

* * *

_Harry's scar prickled uncomfortably and he rubbed it anxiously. Hermione saw the movement and skewered him with her concerned gaze._

_"What's the matter, Harry?"_

_"It's nothing, Hermione. Really, it's not."_

_"I don't know, Harry. I just have this feeling, you know? Like something big's gonna happen. And you haven't seen You-Know-Who in your dreams for months now. Something's not right."_

_"You should relax, really," Harry advised, trying to keep the worry out of his own voice. "I've just probably gotten better at Occlumency. That's not a bad thing."_

_Hermione frowned, brow puckered. "Maybe you shouldn't play today, Harry," she suggested slowly._

_"Are you daft?" He rolled his eyes at her stupidity. "Today's the match against Slytherin, and we don't have a reserve Seeker. Without me, Malfoy's going to catch the Snitch, and then where would we be. I can't just not play Quidditch!"_

_"Alright, alright!" Hermione snapped, then winced at the hurt look on Harry's face. "I'm sorry, it's just... I'm awfully worried about you."_

_"Don't be," he told her with a half-smile. "I'll be fine. I always have been before."_

_"I guess," she conceded, though the fear did not leave her eyes. Harry stood up and stretched before reentering the Gryffindor locker rooms where the rest of the team was assembled. Ron caught his eye and gave him a queasy grin and a thumbs up. Harry responded in kind as the team moved out towards the pitch._

_Madame Hooch released the Quaffle and the Chasers zoomed off after it. Harry kicked off into the air, eyes already searching for that small hint of gold. He ignored the other team and the shouts of the commentator, trying to focus solely on the Snitch._

_After a few minutes he spotted the small golden ball winging low over the pitch and prepared to dive down for it. A lone figure stepping out into the middle of the field distracted him, however. A pale hand snaked out of an inky black robe and snatched the Snitch from mid-air._

_"What the...?" Harry muttered, leaning forward on his broom to see what was going on. His stomach dropped as he drew level with the man and found himself staring into a face he had never wished to see again._

_"Voldemort!"_

_"Indeed," the Dark Lord responded. "I believe you were looking for this?" He held out his hand, palm up, towards the young Gryffindor, who stared at confusion at the Snitch struggling there. _

_"What are you doing?" he demanded._

_"Helping you," Voldemort responded calmly. "Now do you want to win the Quidditch game or not?" Harry struggled with his Quidditch robes, trying to reach his wand which was tucked inside the pocket of his jeans. Still attempting to reach his wand, he zoomed off towards the teacher's stands, intent on gathering help. _

_A white hand caught the twigs of his broom, snapping him backwards. Harry landed painfully on his tail bone. "You can't escape me so easily, boy," Voldemort informed him with a smirk. Harry shivered, watching as Voldemort slowly advanced on him, the entire school watching them with wide eyes._


	6. Chapter Six

_Harry fumbled around in his robes for his wand, eyes still locked on Voldemort's. "Help me!" he screamed. "Somebody do something!"_

_"They won't do anything. All they can do is sit in their stands and watch as I destroy their saviour in front of their eyes. Even Dumbledore is powerless."_

_"Stop playing these stupid mind games! I know that's not true; you're scared of Dumbledore. That's why you've never attacked Hogwarts."_

_"I'm here now, aren't I?" Voldemort pointed out with a cruel, serpentine grin. Harry stammered, trying to come up with a response. "Speechless, Potter?"_

_"Shut up, you bastard."_

_"Manners, Potter, manners," Voldemort reminded his caustically. "Didn't your mummy ever teach you not to swear? Oh, that's right, she's dead."_

_Blood pounded in his ears and he found himself lunging forward to tackle Voldemort. His body was caught in the air, arms stretched out before him and fists clenched. One leg was barely touching the ground and the other trailed behind him. _

_"You can't hurt me, boy. I'm too powerful for you. You might as well give in and agree to end your pointless life right now."_

_"I don't care if I die," Harry proclaimed boldly, "but I'm not going to just give up. I'll take you down with me if I must."_

_"Noble sentiments, boy, but foolhardy."_

_"I may be a fool," Harry agreed, managing to appear dignified despite the fact that he was hanging in a rather awkward position with nothing supporting him, "but I am not about to betray everything and everyone that I've ever held dear."_

_"Even if they betray you?" Voldemort whispered quietly, searching Harry's eyes for some hidden answer as he did so. _

_"My friends will never betray me."_

_"And of course Dumbledore will always be on your side. Where would he be without his little hero to parade around in front of the press? One day he will grow tired of you and cast you aside when you can be of no more use. You are nothing more than a tool to him."_

_"That's not true!" Harry argued, though a voice in the back of his mind told him that if Dumbledore really was his ally he would not have sent Harry to the Dursleys'. _

_"Tell yourself whatever lies you wish, boy, it makes no difference to me. Now, as entertaining as this conversation is, there are more important things that debating with a silly teenage boy." Harry opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a wave of Voldemort's wand._

_"Avada Kedavra." Harry knew no more._

_

* * *

_

Harry was cold. He moaned slightly and tried to burrow closer to Draco for warmth. The other boy was missing from his side. Harry instantly was alert, and his eyes snapped open, focusing on the figure of Dumbledore at his side.

"What did you do to Draco?" Harry hissed angrily, nails digging painfully into his palms.

"Draco is fine," Dumbledore replied succinctly, studying Harry as if he were a penseive.

"I want to see him," Harry demanded.

"I'm afraid that that's not possible. For the time being, we feel that it is best to keep the two of you separated so that you can not plan any escapes."

"Look, Dumbledore, I need to see Draco. Now either you get him for me now or I'll be forced to do something drastic."

"Harry, think about this. You are in a magically warded room without a wand. It is physically impossible for you to do magic."

"Magic isn't omnipotent," Harry answered evasively.

"Perhaps if you agree to cooperate we could arrange for you to see him for a short amount of time."

"What do you mean, cooperate? Aren't you just going to kill me? Or ship me off to Azkaban to languish for the rest of my life?"

"Although Voldemort would likely do such things, we do not."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Which is why Sirius was sentenced for a crime he didn't commit?"

"That was the Ministry of Magic and not the Order of the Phoenix, Harry. The two are very different."

"I don't see much difference at all. You're both a bunch of bumbling fools who think that just because you don't use supposedly Dark spells that gives you the right to control everyone else." Harry shook his head. "Now let me see Draco."

"No, Harry."

"Dumbledore..." Harry growled. "You don't understand anything."

"I understand enough," the old man replied with an air of confidence. "I would not be so vain as to boast that I know everything, but I know that you want to see Mr. Malfoy to help you plot your escape, and that can not be allowed."

"You know nothing about me," Harry spat, eyes narrowed and cold. Dumbledore did not say anything in response. Harry sighed. "How long have I been out?"

"Two weeks." That left him only one week before the full moon and his transformation. "We would like for you to cooperate with us, Harry, so that we can help you."

"You can't help me. And even if you could, I wouldn't accept your help. You'd just stab me in the back as soon as I had begun to trust you again."

Dumbledore frowned sadly, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. "I'm sorry about what happened, my boy. It was a huge misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding? That's all that was to you, a misunderstanding? What do you expect me to do, accept your apology and go back to being the little Gryffindor hero? That was more than just a little misunderstanding, Dumbledore, that was my life that you were toying with."

"At the time, we had nothing else to think. You had the Dark Mark and you should have been dead-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might not be? Did you ever once try to find me? No. You didn't care. I've survived the Killing Curse before, and yet this time I must be dead. You were a blind fool."

"I was, Harry. And I apologize sincerely."

"Apologizing isn't good enough."

"I know."

* * *

Draco woke up groggily, robbing his head tenderly in the places it was sore. "What happened?" he wondered, fighting to sit up and look around him. His vision darkened and his head ached fiercely; it took him a moment to focus on his surroundings. This was not his room in the Dark Lord's stronghold, but it was familiar all the same. "Why am I at Hogwarts?"

He recognized that he was in one of the rarely used dungeon rooms somewhere near the Slytherin common room. He stood up, swaying from side to side, and stumbled over to the door, latching onto the handle and attempting to pull it open.

It did not budge. The reality of his situation came rushing at him with sudden clarity. "I'm a prisoner? Where's Harry?"

"Harry is fine, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore replied, slipping into the room. Draco glared at him and his opulent purple robes.

"That's not what I asked," Draco argued gruffly. "Where is he?"

"In the room next to yours."

"Let me-"

"No, you can not see him, not yet at least. But I can tell you that he knows that you are fine."

"You call this fine?" Draco asked incredulously. "I'm locked up by my sworn enemies, and I'm just chipper? I want to see Harry and I want to see him now. I don't want any of your stupid excuses or any delay. I am going to see Harry whether you like it or not."

"You can see him as soon as you begin to cooperate, Mr. Malfoy."

"Like hell I'm going to cooperate with you, you manipulative old fool. I have even fewer reasons to like- or even somewhat respect- you then I did before, and I'm not about to put up with your idiotic nonsense. And Harry won't either, so don't even bother trying. You might as well kill us and get it over with."

"I have no intention of killing either one of you." Dumbledore's blue eyes tried to widened and his face shifted to appear completely honest. Draco merely snorted in response.

"I'm not going to believe anything you say until I can see Harry."

"If that's is the way you insist on acting, Mr. Malfoy, then-"

"It is."

Dumbledore grimaced slightly but did not otherwise acknowledge the interruption. "Then I will take my leave for now. Think about what I said." Dumbledore left, leaving a baleful Draco behind him.

* * *

"There's something about those two that I just don't quite understand," Albus Dumbledore informed Professors McGonagall and Snape. "They seem to have a unique kind of bond, one which I'm unsure of. Something is going on here that we're not aware of."

"It's probably nothing more than the camaraderie that comes from torturing Muggles together," Snape suggested sourly.

"It's something more than that," Dumbledore insisted, frowning in deep concentration. Harry and Mr. Malfoy have always hated each other, and now that's changed."

"Malfoy was the one who helped Harry to escape," McGonagall pointed out shrewdly. "Perhaps it has something to do with that."

Dumbledore shook his head in disagreement. "That may be a part of it, but we're still missing something. I think that before we can proceed any further we need to find out precisely what is going on."

"And how do you suggest we do that? Stick them together and let them plot how to get back to their puppeteer?" Snape's lips twisted bitterly. "As well hand them their wands and show them the door."

"No, I think that all we need to do is observe them. They are both young and rash. They each gave away many things that I'm sure they did not mean to today. We can use that and figure this out."

"You're forgetting that they aren't naive little schoolboys anymore, Albus," Snape cautioned. "They're Death Eaters, and at the top of the pack, too. They would have learned how to hide how they truly feel and think by now or they would be dead."

"Are you suggesting that this is all a clever facade to hide their true intentions, Severus?"

Snape nodded. "What else could it be? Draco in particular was always excellent at masking his emotions."

"That is a possibility that we will have to consider, I suppose. Still, I do not like the implications that it presents. We may be unable to do anything at all for them if that is the case."

"We can't do anything for them now," Snape spat.

"Don't give up hope so easily, Snape!" McGonagall warned. "While Mr. Malfoy was raised to be a Death Eater, Harry was brought up in a quite different setting-"

"Where he was pampered by those Muggle relatives of his. Look what he did to them, Minerva. That boy has no goodness left in his soul."

"Severus, Minerva, please," Dumbledore intervened, raising up a hand to forestall any further comments. "Harry was not spoiled by his aunt and uncle, in fact it was quite the opposite. Although he never talked much about it, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger were constantly worried over the treatment he received while at their house. He was underfed and treated as no more than a House Elf."

"So he has all the more reason to turn Dark!" Snape commented sharply. "I don't care what you have to say about it; that boy murdered at least a fifty people in the past week alone, several of them in cold blood. He's not your perfect Gryffindor anymore and you won't be able to get him back!"

"We can but try, Severus," Dumbledore responded with a steely look in his deep blue eyes. "We can but try."

* * *

_Harry opened his eyes and looked around, noting his surroundings with relief. "I'm home," he whispered, trying to forget that this was only a temporary reprieve. He walked towards Voldemort's throne slowly, head hanging down in shame. "I'm sorry, master," he lamented sadly, "I have failed you."_

_"Although I do not easily except failure, my young snake, I must say that you are being punished enough."_

_"Thank you, master," Harry responded gratefully, relieved that he was not about to undergo the painful Cruciatus curse. _

_"Now, I need information. Where are you? Where is Draco? Who is with you?"_

_"I am at Hogwarts. I have not actually seen Draco, but I have been told he is also here and is in good condition. The only person I have seen so far is Dumbledore."_

_"Like I said, my young snake, you are being punished enough. Especially if you have to put up with that Muggle-loving old crackpot." Harry smiled wryly, appreciating the humor of the comment. "Is there an hope for escape?"_

_"As of yet, no. The doors are locked and my room is warded so that I can not do magic. I can do little things, of course, but it is very difficult, especially without my wand. I think that the only way to escape may be to have some outside help."_

_Voldemort nodded in assent. "Something will be arranged. Until then, do not reveal anything, especially those things that could not be tortured out of my other Death Eaters. Find Draco and then inform me of his true condition. I do not trust Dumbledore or any of his Order of the Phoenix cronies."_

_"Nor do I, my lord. I will do everything as you say."_

_"See to it that you do," Voldemort remarked sharply. "If possible, find your way back to me quickly. You and Draco both are needed to plan the attack on Hogwarts. I will, of course, visit you each night in your dreams. Set up your barriers to let no one else but me in. Keep in mind that Dumbledore is an accomplished Legilimens."_

_"Of course, my lord."_

_Harry bowed deeply and withdrew when the Dark Lord waved him away in dismissal. "And don't forget, young snake, that you should use this opportunity to learn as much about the enemy as possible."_

_"I will do that, master." Harry backed out of the room with one final bow, eager to walk around Voldemort's stronghold and see the familiar, comforting settings, even if it was only in his dreams._

_

* * *

_

"You are going to let me see Draco now. I'll do whatever you want, within reason, but I am going to see him."

Dumbledore could not stop the joyous look that eased over his features. Although things would have been better if Harry had agreed to cooperate entirely through his own violation, Dumbledore was perfectly willing to accept whatever compliance he could squeeze out of the boy.

"As you wish. I will have him brought here immediately."

"See to it," Harry commanded in a cold, imperious voice.

Dumbledore nodded his head slightly and left the room, heading to the smaller dungeon room next to Harry's. He opened the door and was met with the intense gray eyes of a glaring Draco.

"You are going to let me see Harry now. I'll do whatever you want, but you are going to let me see him."

This time the grin of triumph grew even wider and Dumbledore felt his eyes twinkle with a victorious light. "If that is what you want. I will take you to him now."

"Good," Draco responded in the same coolly commanding tone as Harry. Dumbledore, leading Draco out of his room (he did not think of it as a cell), privately wondered at the startling similarities between the two boys.

Harry was standing just inside the door, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed as if he would not truly believe that Dumbledore would let him see the other Death Eater. "Draco!" he cried as the blonde boy moved into his line of sight.

"Harry!" Draco responded with as much fervor as his counterpart had earlier. The two boys hugged briefly and moved back to sit together on Harry's bed. "Leave us alone, Dumbledore," Draco demanded, motioning towards the door.

"I don't think that would be for the best at the moment," Dumbledore disagreed calmly. "I will stay until I feel confident that nothing... untoward will happen."

Simultaneously, Harry and Draco each raised a single eyebrow, cocking their heads to one side. After a moment of staring at the old wizard, they shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders, beginning to talk in quiet whispers that Dumbledore strained to overhear.

Unbeknownst to him, Harry had set up an elementary shielding charm, even though the effort had taxed him; it was hard to work through the magic-dampening wards. As a result of the many wards surrounding the room, the small magic could not be sensed and so Harry felt relatively secure in his privacy.

"Voldemort spoke to me last night," he informed Draco hurriedly. "He's going to send help to get us out, but he didn't say when or who. He didn't punish me. He said that having to deal with Dumbledore was punishment enough for me."

Draco laughed and smirked, nodding in complete agreement.

"He warned us not to give away any information and to learn as much as we can. The attack on Hogwarts will not occur until we are out of the castle."

"That's good then." He turned to find Dumbledore staring at them suspiciously. "Maybe we should give him something to worry about," Draco suggested slyly, winking.

"Like what?" Harry wanted to know, though his return wink informed Draco that he was catching on.

"Like this." Draco grabbed the smaller boy in both arms and kissed him deeply and passionately.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in sudden surprise and he barely stopped the gasp that fought valiantly to escape from his throat. Whatever he had thought about the two boys was turned on its head. This was certainly an unexpected twist. He was entirely unprepared for this possibility; the two had always hated each other before now and he did not think that there bond would have been able to grow to even a mild friendship.

When the two Death Eaters finally pulled apart, Harry was blushing slightly, the pale red tinge colouring his cheeks. Draco, on the other hand, appeared perfectly calm and collected, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Will you leave us alone now?" Draco asked craftily.

"Yes, yes, very well," Dumbledore agreed, more out of shock than anything else. He turned around and left the room, intent on informing the others of this startling new development. He summoned Professors Snape and McGonagall to his office and told them in short words what he had seen.

"Harry Potter and... Malfoy?" McGonagall asked incredulously. "You can't possibly expect us to believe that."

"Indeed," Snape added, "why would a Slytherin love a foolhardy Gryffindor?"

"Why would a Gryffindor sink to love a Slytherin?" McGonagall shot back with a pointed glare.

"I doubt that they hold themselves to their House loyalties still," Dumbledore pointed out. "They are both now fighting on the same side of this war. This new turn of events has an unforeseen advantage, however. I have the feeling that one would do anything for the other, especially Draco. We can use that to help our cause."

"There may be hope left, Dumbledore," McGonagall breathed, not daring to speak too loudly in case the small hope might be torn away from her clutching grasp. "This could mean that he is not completely evil."

"Indeed, there is still some small chance. If Harry can love even one other person, it means that he may return to the way he was, given time."

"Please," Snape butted in acidly. "Even if some bit of your precious Potter remains, being a Death Eater changes a man irreversibly. He will always have his sins hanging over him. It's like an addiction to alcoholism; no matter how long you remain sober, the risk still remains of having a drink and losing control again. How can you expect him to be reliable when he could regress back to a Dark wizard with little or no provocation?"

"In times like these, Severus, we must make do with what we have. If there is any way to use Harry to our advantage, I will see to it that it is done. I can not allow anything to aid the other side in this war; there is simply too much at stake. If the life of Harry Potter is the cost, then so be it."

* * *

_After a prolonged session of agony and screaming, his torturers left, chortling to themselves over the entertainment that Harry provided. Harry was not in a merry mood however, as he still lay writhing on the floor from the immense pain. _

_Slowly, so slow that it seemed to draw out forever, the haze of pain faded and he used his trembling arms to lever himself into a sitting position, slumping back against a rough, cold stone wall. He pulled the remnants of his Quidditch robes tightly around his thin frame, hoping that they would offer some scant warmth. He was sadly mistaken._

_After an eternity he was finally opened his eyes, looking at the bright, almost beautiful patterns that the spatters of his blood made against the dark gray of the walls. Looking at one dripping splotch, he could almost make out what looked like a wolf._

_He snorted at his own foolishness, but immediately winced in pain when the motion sent fire raging throughout his body. After all he had been through, here he was, stuck in some cell Merlin knows where, driving himself slowly insane. Had he not thought that his blood looked pretty a minute ago? That was disgusting and he shivered from both the cold and the discomfiting thought._

_Harry absently ran a pale, thin hand through his long, stringy black hair, pulling the locks in front of his face and scowling at them deeply. He needed a haircut. Aunt Petunia would have a fit if she saw him now. She would probably rush over to him with a razor, insisting that the only way to rid him of that horrid filthy mop of hair was to shave it off altogether._

_He smiled slightly at the mental image of his aunt's disgusted face. Maybe, if he survived, he would send her a picture._

_Harry turned his head so that his fevered cheek was pressed against the wall. He stared glumly into the shadows at the other side of the room, then started suddenly. Something was in the room!_

_He scrambled as fast as he could over to the object, examining it as closely as he could without touching it. The ragged shirt could not possibly have been intended for him to wear; there were far more holes than cloth. _

_His eyes lit up as he realized what this must be. A portkey! Harry did not stop to think about why one would suddenly appear or to even doubt that this was one. He grabbed it and held on firmly, eyes screwed shut and mouth silently working, praying to every deity he knew of that this would work._

_Nothing happened. Harry opened his eyes and stared at the scrap of cloth balefully. Still, nothing happened. He wadded the shirt up with both hands and prepared to toss it to the farthest corner of the room, but something stopped him. With a sudden jerk he felt the ground disappear from beneath him and he plummeted forward._


	7. Chapter Seven

_Draco appeared in one of the unused rooms of the Dark Lord's castle stronghold, cradling an unconcious Harry Potter in his arms. The other boy was so light! Draco privately wondered whether or not Potter had ever eaten a decent meal, and decided that he must not have. _

_A pair of Death Eaters moved as if to stop him when he came out of the small room, but stopped when they saw the figure huddled within the reach of Draco's arms. "Our master will want to see you," they told him, voices as expressionless as their plain masks. Draco nodded._

_One of them moved to take Potter from him, but Draco resisted. "He's hurt. Moving him too much could injure him even more. I'll carry him." The Death Eater shrugged minutely and turned, leading Draco up through the bowels of the castle. _

_A few minutes later he was ushered into the Dark Lord's presence. Draco had never seen the man before, and he bowed deeply, almost dropping Potter as he did so. It was awkward to attempt to stand up after Voldemort told him to rise, but he somehow managed. _

_"You have done exactly as instructed," Voldemort hissed, eyeing Harry with an odd mix of longing and pride. "For that, you will be rewarded. You will be inducted into the ranks of my Death Eaters, young Malfoy. You have done your family proud."_

_"Thank you, my lord," Draco choked out, scared and exhilirated at the same time. _

_"Leave us," the Dark Lord commanded, gesticulating for all the Death Eaters to file out of the room, which they did dutifully. Draco peered up at his master through his thick eyelashes, chewing his lip subconciously and wondering what was to happen now._

_"What condition is my young Harry in?" Voldemort queried, a quaint tone of possession in his voice. _

_"He... he doesn't seem to have been fed much, and his injuries were left untended. He... he was-"_

_"Spit it out, boy," Voldemort growled impatiently, "I do not have time to waste. I must know of his condition immediately!"_

_"He was bitten by a werewolf," Draco whispered in the closest thing to a squeak a Malfoy had ever dared utter. To his surprise, Voldemort did not seem the least bit upset; rather, he looked exuberant._

_"This is better than I could have hoped!" he laughed, crimson eyes shining with an eerie light. "Draco, you will watch over young Harry. See to it that he recieves medical attention, food, and other nesecities. He is in your charge. Do not disappoint me!"_

_"I won't, my lord, I swear it!"_

_

* * *

_

Draco kept a close watch on Harry as he slept, monitoring his love for any signs of distress. Harry was snuggled up against the taller boy, body relaxed and a slight smile playing across his face. Draco loved it when Harry was sleeping; he seemed so happy and at rest.

His head snapped around when he heard the door crack open and he glared at the familiar freckled face that appeared there. "Come to stare, Weasley?" he asked. "Couldn't wait to see him, could you?"

"What of it, Malfoy?" Ron snapped back, his face pale and looking freshly scrubbed. His eyes were red and swollen and a few tears lingered in them still. "He owes me an explanation for what he did."

"He owes you nothing," Draco spat, locking eyes with the redhead and silently daring him to argue.

"He killed my sister! He tortured Hermione, and me! You couldn't imagine what his betrayal has done to my family; it's ripped my mum apart. She blames it on herself! And all of this is his fault!"

"Harry is not the one at fault, you bloody bigot. He is the victim here, not you or your pathetic little excuse for a Pureblood relatives."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron screamed, face suddenly flushed with fury. "Potter destroyed my life! He killed my sister, and she didn't even do anything!"

"Oh, he didn't just kill your sister," Malfoy taunted with a wicked grin.

"What the hell do you mean?" Ron demanded angrily. "Are you trying to tell me he raped her or something?"

"Please, Weasley, as if Harry would stoop to touch a little filthy thing like her."

"What are you talking about then?"

"The twins, Weasley, your twin brothers. They're dead too."

"No, no they're not," Ron denied weakly. "They're still hiding out in Diagon Alley, waiting for help to arrive. They wouldn't have gotten caught."

"I wish you could have seen their faces when Harry revealed himself to them. They were horrified. They chose to challenge him. And they died for it."

"You saw my brothers die?" Ron's voice cracked with despair. "You saw it?"

"I didn't just see it," Draco smirked, "I helped."

Ron shook, clenching his hands into fists and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "You bloody snake," he managed, each word being ripped from his tongue as if it caused him pain to even speak to the Death Eater. "You deserve what you're going to get. I'm going to be there when the Dementors give you the Kiss, and I'm going to laugh."

"Ah!" Harry shrieked, curling into a ball and flailing wildly around the bed. "No, no, it wasn't me! I swear, I'm not- you've got to believe me!"

The insulting retort died on Draco's tongue as he darted towards Harry, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "Shhh," he soothed, rubbing his hands up and down Harry's back. "You're just fine. It's a nightmare."

This time, however, comforting words and motions were not enough to stop the horrors that Harry was seeing. His entire body spasmed, almost knocking Draco to the ground. "Wake up, Harry!" Draco pleaded desprately. "You've got to wake up!"

Harry's forehead was puckered in pain and a faint sheen of sweat began to shine on his brow. "Come on, Harry, don't do this to me!" Harry's mouth opened as wide as it could and he let out one loud bellow, somehow conjuring up all the pain and suffering he had experienced in his miserable life and letting it out in one terrible note. Ron covered his ears as tears plummeted down his face in icy rivulets, eyes wide with horror at the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"I need my wand, damnit," Draco growled, knowing that he could help if he could do a calming charm. "Harry, why did you have do pick now?" Draco gave an exasperated sigh, though in truth he was not angry, at least not at Harry.

"Shhh, Harry, shhh," Draco whispered, pinning Harry beneath him in a last ditch attempt to stop his thrashing. Harry struggled feebly for a few moments before relaxing once again, though his brow remained furrowed.

"Leave us alone, Weasley," Draco commanded, gesturing towards the door. "Don't come back."

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Ron questioned, planting his feet stolidly in the door and refusing to comply with Draco's demands.

"You're what's wrong with him. You betrayed him, and it's all your fault that he's like he is today."

"I loved Harry," Ron argued, glaring at Draco. "I didn't betray him; he betrayed me."

"You couldn't love Harry," Draco snarled, feeling almost like a werewolf himself as an animalistic rage built up inside him. "You couldn't have loved him and still have done the things you did."

"And I suppose you think you love him?"

"I do," Draco answered succinctly, raising his chin in mute challenge. "You don't understand. We love each other."

"Monsters like you can't love."

"Then you know we're not monsters," Draco answered, fighting with himself to not throttle the other boy. Ron merely widened his eyes in a puzzled look and slipped out of the door, deep in thought. Draco turned back to Harry and settled down beside him once more, hoping that there would be no more interruptions that night.

* * *

Ron stood in the midst of his shattered family, tears streaming freely down his face. Snow drifted downwards from the oppressive gray clouds, coating the six remaining Weasleys in a blanket of white. Ginny's body lay before them on a funeral pyre, eyes closed and hands folded in the peaceful repose of death.

Around them, Ginny's yearmates, the faculty of Hogwarts, and family friends were tightly packed, the crowd trying to offer silent comfort while still crying to themselves. Neville stood close to the Weasleys, hands in the pockets of his pants and head hanging down. Out of all of them, he had taken her death the hardest, except perhaps for Mrs. Weasley.

For her, she was not only losing one of her children but her sole daughter and her baby. Ron had not seen her stop crying in the little over two weeks since Ginny's murder by that monster Potter. Bill wrapped his arms around his mother, holding the stout woman as she wept and wailed, face blotchy from her tears.

Mr. Weasley was almost unemotional, shocked from the untimely death of his youngest child. Out of all their children, Ginny had seemed the most safe; she still had two years at Hogwarts and, unlike Ron, had not made an enemy out of Potter, and, through him, the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Mr. Wealsey stared off into space, eyes blank and lifeless.

Percy seemed to have just the right mix of sadness and willingness to move on with his life, yet to Ron it came across as an act. Bitterly, Ron watched as Percy comforted his mother with an almost detached indifference, though his face was appropriately streaked with tears. His body was stiff and he looked occasionally at his watch as if counting the minutes before he could return to his normal life.

Charlie was distraught. To him, Ginny had been the favoured baby to dote upon and spoil. He had spent large portions of his childhood watching over her and entertaining her. As a result of the gap in their ages, Ginny was almost something of a child to him as well as his sister. Her death left a gaping hole in his life, one which he would never be able to fill completely.

Ron, however, focused his misery and frustration into an iron hard club with which he intended to pound Harry Potter. His brown eyes were narrowed and his face tight. He clenched his fists and held them low at his sides, thinking of when he had visited Potter last night.

Potter was suffering, and for that Ron was glad. He deserved to be tortured, to be put under the Cruciatus like Ron had been. Every once in a while a stray limb would twitch uncontrollably or he would descend into violent tremors. According to Madame Pomfrey, he had been under the curse for so long that it was unlikely that his body would ever completely recover.

It was all Potter's fault, Potter's and Malfoy's. The two of them had orchestrated the events that not only led to the deaths of his brothers and sister but also to the downfall of the Ministry and Diagon Alley and the unavoidable attack on Hogwarts. The two of them deserved to rot in Azkaban and to have their emotions sucked away from them. Privately Ron hoped, as he watched Dumbledore walk slowly towards the front of the crowd, that Potter still saw You-Know-Who killing his parents whenever the Dementors neared. It would serve him right to spend his life screaming as his parents were murdered over and over again before his eyes.

Dumbledore reached the front of the assembly, robed in a solemn gray that darkened his eyes and made him seem almost as old as he was. "Virginia Weasley was an exemplary student," he began in a calm, clear voice. "She had many friends and a loving family. She could look forward to a rewarding career after her graduation from Hogwarts in two years."

Molly Weasley let out a long, loud sob, painfully reminded that her daughter would never graduate from school. Dumbledore paused for a moment out of respect, and then continued. "She is, like so many others, a casualty in this war against Voldemort." Most of the crowd shivered.

"She died bravely and, without her assistance, there would be two dangerous Death Eaters on the loose once more. Today we honour her and mourn her passing." He drew his wand from a deep pocket and his robes and whispered a spell.

The crowds watched as white flames slowly engulfed the girl's body, setting her spirit free from its mortal constraints. After the last flames had faded completely, the assembly moved back to Hogwarts from the edges of the Forbidden Forest, a silent, morose group.

* * *

Dumbledore slowly approached the room of the two Death Eaters, thoughts whirling through his head on how best to approach them. When he stopped in front of the thick wooden door he still had not decided. He supposed he would just have to improvise.

Harry and Draco were staring at him hatefully when he entered their room, legs hanging off the cot and dangling a few inches above the cold stone floor. "Good afternoon," Dumbledore greeted cheerfully, a salutation that was ignored with stony silence.

"What do you want?" Harry asked finally after a few minutes of glaring.

"I was promised that the two of you would cooperate if you were allowed to see each other," Dumbledore reminded them.

Harry and Draco traded looks as if determining whether or not they should keep that promise. Neither of them looked as if they wished to be seperated again. "What of it?" Draco finally questioned cautiously.

"For now, I would merely be content with you talking to a few people. Later on, however, there may be more that you need to do."

"Who would we be talking to? And what about?" Draco demanded with an anxious glance towards Harry.

"Professors here at Hogwarts, perhaps a few of your old classmates. We would not ask questions that you would not answer. Your privacy, of course, would be respected. This is not an interrogation, merely an avenue for conversation."

Although Harry suspected it was anything but an attempt to win them over and find as much information as possible, he acquiesced with a slight nod in Draco's direction. "That's fine."

"Good." Dumbledore stepped out of the room for a moment and returned with several Order members. They conjured up manacles for the two Death Eaters and fitted them tightly around their wrists.

"You don't trust us?" Draco said wryly, a hint of a pout in his tone. "Why ever not?" The Order members merely glared at him and tightened his chains. Harry laughed, the first sound of pleasure he had made in quite some time.

They were led through the twisting dungeons to another out-of-the-way, unused room, though the House Elves had obviously spent much more time cleaning up this chamber. Two chairs with padded cloth seats were arranged neatly in front of a gathering of the most mismatched furniture Harry had ever seen. There was a mouldy couch well-chewed by rats, an impressive, high-backed leather armchair emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, and an odd assortment of various other seats.

Draco snorted, amused by the miscellaneous collection. Harry and Draco were led to the wooden chairs and their restraints removed. Draco instantly sprang up and sat down on the floor at Harry's feet, much like he was accustomed to doing in the Dark Lord's throne room.

"Never thought I'd see a Malfoy be the lapdog of anyone short of Voldemort, much less a Potter," Mad Eye Moody snorted, chortling at the sight.

"Draco is not my slave," Harry denied firmly.

"If I have to sit and listen to you people prattle about for hours," Draco added bitingly, "I'm not going to be uncomfortable while doing so." He wrinkled his nose delicately in disdain, causing Harry to laugh.

A handful of people began to trickle in, joining Dumbledore as they sat facing the two Death Eaters. Harry recognized McGonagall and Snape as well as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Harry smirked widely at the sight of his former friends. "How was your stay in the hospital wing?" he inquired wickedly. "Did you enjoy the aftereffects of our little chat?"

Ron skewered him with an unrelenting glare. Hermione leaned in and wrapped her arms around Ron, burying her head in his shoulder. Harry could barely make out her whispers of why this was happening.

"Harry, you were invited to this room in the hopes that you could address your friends civilly. If you can not, you and Draco will be returned to your seperate cells." Dumbledore's voice was quiet with the sincere threat.

"I merely asked them a question, Dumbledore," Harry responded coldly. "There was nothing malevolent about it." His lips curved upwards and his eyelids lowered in a snarky expression. "There is no need to seperate us."

"Bet you'd hate that, wouldn't you, Potter?" Ron interjected cruelly. "Couldn't shag Malfoy then, could you?"

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall admonished. "There is no need for such profanity!"

"Oh, it's quite alright," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's not Ron's fault that he's jealous; after all, who would want to shag him, even a Mudblood like Granger?" Draco snorted appreciatively.

"You will keep a civil tongue in your head, Mr. Potter, or I will assure that you won't have one," Snape threatened.

"Severus," Dumbledore warned, eyes widening to signal that Snape needed to forestall any further comments. "All parties will treat each other with respect, at the very least."

"He killed Ginny!" Ron shouted, flushed with anger. "He killed Fred and George! And you expect me to just sit here and talk to him like old chums?"

"How do you know I killed Fred and George?" Harry demanded quickly. Ron's eyes widened as he realised he had said too much.

"Weasley's been sneaking about where he ought to not," Draco commented lightly with a sneer. "After all, I highly doubt that trip to torment Harry was authorized."

"That will be dealt with later," Dumbledore decided, shooting a firm glance at Ron to inform him that it would be so. The redhead sunk down in his seat and glared openly at Harry. "For now, I believe we have other things to discuss."

"Indeed. Why don't we start with how you betrayed me?" Harry suggested.

"I apologize again, Harry."

"I reject your apology again." Harry paused and inhaled, shutting his eyes as if to ward off the world. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" His voice was bitter.

"What would you have us do? Dump you on the side of the road? You would just return to Voldemort " Snape raised on thick eyebrow and gazed piercingly at Harry. For a moment, Harry almost felt as if he were back in his Potions class, but only for a moment.

"This is all your fault in the first place!" he accused, rising to his feet. Draco stood with him, lending Harry his silent support.

Hermione raised her head from Ron's shoulder and looked directly at Harry. "You're just placing the blame on others," she informed him, voice shaking with suppressed emotion. She seemed ready to collapse into tears but was still able to spout her knowledge of psychology at him. "You are refusing to bear the responsibility for your own actions and choices."

"What choice did I have?" Harry wanted to know. "What was I supposed to do, sit in Azkaban and wait until you figured out that maybe you'd been wrong? That's what Sirius did, and he's dead now."

"His sentencing to Azkaban is completely unrelated to his death!" Hermione insisted. "And now that you bring it up, how can you support You-Know-Who when he killed your godfather? Sirius loved you, and I know you loved him as well."

"My master had nothing to do with Sirius' death," Harry argued. "Bellatrix Lestrange was the one who killed him, and she has already been punished for her transgressions."

"What do you mean, Potter? Voldemort would not kill one of his own so easily, not when she was one of his most devoted followers. She did nothing wrong in his view by killing her cousin," Snape pointed out.

"Voldemort didn't kill her. I did. I avenged Sirius by killing her."

Draco smiled fondly. "She was your present from Voldemort when you joined him," he recalled nostagically. "That was a good day."

"That's barbaric!" Hermione spat with disgust. "How could anyone, even You-Know-Who, give away another person as a gift?"

"You do not understand the ways of the Dark Lord," Snape informed her harshly. "Practices like that are all too common among him and his followers."

"You would know, wouldn't you Snape?" Harry sneered.

"The days of my status as a Death Eater are long past," the greasy professor remarked.

"And it is unfortunate for you that you switched sides. The days of Voldemort's glory are coming, and you will be one of the first to die."

"Do you expect me to be frightened when threatened by a seventeen year old who is a prisoner?"

"On the contrary, I would be rather ashamed if you did. After all, you were a Death Eater once, even if you no longer follow that path. Even beyond being a Death Eater, you were one of Voldemort's top lieutenants. You would shame not only yourself but also me and my position were you to be scared."

"Do you even realise how twisted that statement is?" McGonagall questioned. "You're insane."

Draco laughed. "If he's insane, then it's your fault. After all, you were his Head of House. How is it that you bear no responsibility?"

"It was Harry's choices that led him to this very moment," Dumbledore cut in solemnly. "No one but Harry bears any responsibility or blame for himself. No one else can shoulder that burden."

"If you hadn't treated him-"

"We can debate the what-ifs all day, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure you could produce plenty of seemingly legitimate reasons that would make it seem as if I alone am to blame for Tom Riddle's downward spiral into darkness."

"You knew that something was wrong with him," Harry pointed out. "And yet you did nothing. Moaning Myrtle died at this school, and yet you were content to have Hagrid shipped off to Azkaban for the imagined crime of setting loose Aragog."

"I did all that I could. I was not Headmaster at the time of his schooling."

19

"You could have killed him. None of this would have happened if you had simply disposed of him quickly and efficently."

"Killing off one evil man will not stop the actions of a dozen others. Even without Tom, there would surely be some new evil that we would have to face. Grindewald came about without my help, and a new Dark Lord could have risen just as easily were Tom dead. Besides, killing off anyone on mere suspicion that they are a wrongdoer would be completely reprehensible."

"That is why you will lose this war. You are not willing to do what needs to be done."

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, you agreed to cooperate."

"We did. But we're Death Eaters. You shouldn't trust us, now should you? After all, we are evil, depraved individuals with no personality traits save for an unflagging allegiance and blind loyalty to our master."

"Passed the Quaffle right through the goal," Mad Eye Moody muttered quietly.

"I've always been good at Quidditch," Harry retorted.

"You insufferable prat!" Ron roared, bursting with rage. "You are so damn full of yourself-"

"Language, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall interrupted.

Ron ignored her, continuing. "You're just scum, is what you are. You're a heartless bastard, a monster. Just because you're powerful doesn't give you the right to act like a downright git! You're no hero or saviour or anyone special; you're just some damn traitor with an ego bigger than... than Malfoy's!"

Harry let out an obviously fake yawn. "If you're quite finished calling me petty names like a toddler," he remarked sharply, I'm really rather tired. And I'm sure you all have important things to do." Every word dripped with sarcasm and disgust.

Ron opened his mouth to continue his tirade but Draco cut him off sharply. "Don't even think about it, Weasley. You've said your piece. Harry isn't affected becasue you're an idiot with a poor choice of words. Don't call him a heartless bastard or anything else like that again. You couldn't be half the man he is if you tried."

"Harry," Hermione pleaded desprately. "Why are you doing this to us, to yourself?"

"I think I've made it perfectly clear that the guilt lies with you, " he responded, turning around to face the members of the Order in the back of the room. "Handcuff me back up and take me to my cell."

"We will finish this conversation another time," Dumbledore promised as Harry and Draco were led off.


	8. Chapter Eight

_The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes were the pale, aristocratic features of Draco Malfoy. The two blinked at each other for several seconds before the memories of the previous night came rushing back to Harry._

_"Oh no, oh no," he murmured, struggling to sit up and noting with surprise that he was not bound. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously._

_"You mean you don't remember? Being bit by that werewolf and-"_

_"Of course I remember, Malfoy," Harry snapped in annoyance. "How can you forget something like that?"_

_"I don't know. I've never been bit by one before," Malfoy pointed out sarcastically. _

_"Yeah, well, don't. It hurts like hell." He sighed and looked around. "I guess I'm at Voldemort's right?" Draco nodded. "And you're here to make sure I don't escape?"_

_"Not at all. Now that you're awake, you need to eat."_

_"I'm being fed? Voldemort never fed me before. Are you sure that's not some euphemism for torture?" In response Malfoy clapped his hands and four House Elves appeared, bearing steaming trays of delectable foods. Harry's jaw dropped. "I guess you were serious."_

_Harry reached for the nearest platter but found that he was too weak to do so. Malfoy noted his failure and rolled his eyes. "I guess I'm going to have to feed you like a baby, Potter," he growled, though his voice held none of its usual harshness. _

_"Trust me, Malfoy, I'm going to enjoy this a whole lot less than you will." _

_"I doubt that." Still, Draco began to spoon rich, savory broth into Harry's mouth. Harry swallowed eagerly, enjoying the flavour. Even at Hogwarts he had never had food this grand._

_"Aren't you going to eat?" he asked Draco._

_"This food's for you. It's not my place to eat it." Malfoy responded quietly. Still, Harry noted how he was eyeing a chocolate pudding with hunger. _

_"Go ahead and eat," Harry urged, unsure of why he was feeling so generous. He brushed it off as gratitude for having saved his life. "I don't mind. There' s no way I can eat it all."_

_"That's because you always eat like a bird, Potter. I've never seen you eat a hearty meal." Malfoy did not wait for Harry to retract his invitation, immediately digging into the desert._

_"That's because my stomach's not used to all that-" Harry slammed his mouth shut abruptly, painfully aware that he had been about to say too much._

_"What do you mean?" Malfoy asked, eyes blazing with a sudden curiosity._

_"Nothing," Harry responded meekly. "Wait, you watched me?"_

_"Nice try, Potter. Don't change the subject. Tell me what exactly you mean."_

_"Only, that, erm, I've never eaten a lot. I've got a small appetite." His eyes must have given him away, for he tried to keep his face carefully blank and he thought he did a good job of it._

_"Potter, you're a teenager. We inhale food. It's what we do. Now, why aren't you used to eating large amounts of food?"_

_"It's none of your damn business!" Harry exploded._

_"Alright, alright. Look, I'm... I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone now. Besides, the Dark Lord will want to see you now."_

_Harry gulped, memories of the Dursleys and long years of starvation momentarily forgotten. "Voldemort?"_

_

* * *

_

"Store."

"Clothes."

"Restricting."

"Restricting? Restricting? Should I be worried?"

"Shut up and keep going."

"Fine. Dumbledore."

"Pedophile."

"Merlin!"

"Arthu-"

"No, not Merlin the wizard! Albus Dumbledore, a pedophile?"

"It's word association. You just say the first thing that pops into your head."

"I know, but still. As much as I loathe the man, that one's a bit out there."

"You were the one who suggested we play!" Harry glared at Draco, though there was no real ire in it.

"Well, maybe we should do something else." Both boys looked around them for a few moments, staring at the blank gray walls. "Any suggestions?"

"No. I'm fresh out of ideas. I hope we get out of here soon."

"We have to. If we have to keep playing word association I fear for my sanity."

Harry swatted Draco's arm. "Ha ha. Very funny."

Draco grinned back. "Still, think about it. It is pretty funny."

"You going insane?" Harry looked confused.

"No," Draco answered, rolling his eyes with an exasperated air. "Dumbledore."

"Oh." He paused for a moment and then began to chuckle. Draco joined in, and for the next few minutes they were incapacitated by their laughter.

"What is so amusing?" Dumbledore wanted to know as he walked into the cell. This only made Draco and Harry double up chortling and the two could not calm down. "I'm afraid I'll never understand the jokes of the young..." Dumbledore regretted mournfully.

Harry instantly sobered, elbowing Draco, who followed suit, although somewhat sulkily. "What do you want?"

"I think that we need to talk. Privately."

"Go ahead," Harry said with a wave of his hand.

"Without Draco."

"No. You've had plenty of chances to talk to me alone. Besides, there is nothing that I won't tell Draco anyway."

"I am well aware of the depth of your relationship, but I do not think that having Mr. Malfoy offer up his opinions would be at all beneficial."

"He'll be good," Harry responded at the same time Draco declared, "I'll be good."

Dumbledore looked unconvinced but nodded his consent. "Very well then. Harry, I want to know why you agreed to follow Voldemort."

"We've been over this many times already, Dumbledore. I didn't have a choice. My so-called friends had abandoned me and I had nowhere to turn. I had no other options."

"You told me before that you belonged to no one."

"No one except Draco, yes," Harry agreed with a calming glance towards the taller boy. "I belong to Draco and he belongs to me." Draco settled back down from and leaned against the stone wall, resuming his expressionless, unblinking study of Dumbledore.

"And you belonged to no one except Draco because you were not forced into obeying Voldemort."

"Yes..." Harry muttered slowly, uncertain of where this was headed and not liking his ignorance one bit.

"Yet you say that you had no choice but to join Voldemort. How does that make any sense?"

"I wouldn't expect you to be able to understand it," Harry retorted bitterly, though he privately wondered how it could possibly make sense.

"I do not profess to understand everything, especially the mind of another. The mind is a complicated thing, and often its owner is unaware of its true intricacies."

"I know my mind quite well, thank you."

* * *

"There's something different about him," Hermione insisted, tapping her quill against her lips.

"He doesn't wear his glasses anymore," Ron said dismissively, waving his own eagle feather quill wildly in the air. "What's the incantation for that shield again?"

"Protenus. But Ron, that's not what I mean. Although I do wonder why he suddenly stopped wearing his glasses. Do you suppose he got contacts or something?"

"He probably had a procedure to have his eyes fixed. After all, he couldn't look like a nerd when he helped take over the world, now could he?" Ron spat sourly.

"Ron, grow up. Harry never cared about his appearance before and I don't see why he would start now."

"Don't ask me to explain the mind of a Death Eater."

"You are so mule-headed!" Hermione fumed in irritation. "I'm not talking about his physical appearance! There was something different about him. He _felt_ different."

"Of course he felt different! He's a Death Eater now. Murder and torture has to change a person somehow, you know."

"Would you bloody listen to me?" The use of an explicative from Hermione caught his attention. "Something is a lot different about him. It feels almost familiar in a way, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"What does it matter? He's as good as dead. Either he'll have his soul sucked or he'll spend the rest of his life rotting in some dingy jail cell." Ron returned his attention to his hastily scribbled essay. "It's still twelve inches short and we've only half an hour before Defense!" he cried in dismay.

"Ron, would you stop worrying about your homework? You should have had it done when it was assigned weeks ago, when it was assigned, in the first place, and it's not like it matters anyway!"

Ron's eyes widened in shock. "Hermione, schoolwork always matters to you. Remember? 'If we don't get good marks, then we won't have good careers, and then-'"

"I'm very aware of that, Ronald Weasley! But unless we figure out what's going on with Harry, there won't be any way for us to even graduate, much less take our N.E.W.T.s!"

"Is that supposed to be a bad thing?" Hermione glared at him and his feeble attempt at being facetious. "Okay, okay, I wasn't serious. Now what do you want me to do about it?"

"Help me figure this out! What could make Harry's magical aura suddenly feel different? I'm pretty sure that this isn't extremely recent, but he wasn't like this when he first returned from You-Know-Who."

"Maybe You-Know-Who did something to him?" Ron suggested, though with a look that clearly stated he did not believe his own words.

"No. That's not it. It's almost like he's... not... human..."Hermione's eyes unfocused and she moved her lips as if remembering an old, half-forgotten conversation. Ron waved his hand in front of her face. She did not respond.

"Hermione? Hermione!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. After a moment she woke up, blinking in confusion and shaking her head from side to side.

"That's it!" she said, exuding an air of assuredness. "Oh, I've figured it out!" She paused for a moment and the grin of triumph faded off her face to be replaced by a concerned expression. "Oh, but poor Harry. It's no wonder he turned..."

"What are you talking about? There's no reason to pity Harry! He killed Ginny!"

"I know that, Ron, but this is something else. It doesn't condone or excuse what he did, but it does offer up an explanation-"

"Will you just tell me what your chattering on about?" he demanded, knowing that Hermione would take forever to make her point.

"Ron! Harry's a werewolf!"

"Oh," he said stupidly. "Wait a second..."

Hermione's eyebrows rocketed upwards as she understood what he meant. "Tonight's the full moon! We've got to help him!"

"Wait a second, what about my Defense essay?"

"You should have done it yesterday when we had that free period," Hermione responded sagely. "Now, come on, we've got to tell Dumbledore! It's almost nightfall!"

* * *

"Harry, I only want to help you," Dumbledore half-begged, running a hand through his long silvery hair. "You must see that."

"I 'must see' nothing. You are not trying to help me, you're trying to turn me back into your puppet. Well, I've been living without the strings cut for over a year and I'm doing just fine."

"Is that why you scream with nightmares every night?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly.

Harry's mask of indifference and smart aleck coolness shattered. What little colour he had in his face drained from his skin, leaving him a pasty white. "I... I..." he stammered, bringing his knees up to his chest and holding them tightly.

"Leave him alone!" Draco interjected hotly, moving to stand between the two powerful wizards. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" He shielded Harry from Dumbledore with his body, feet planted firmly on the floor and eyes blazing. "You couldn't possibly understand."

"Mr. Malfoy, I have known Harry better and longer than you have. I believe it is you that does not understand," Dumbledore tried to reason, though his words had a hard edge that ruined the persuading effect they were intended to have.

"You don't get it, do you? This isn't your Harry! Your Harry died over a year ago!"

"Even if his allegiance has changed, he is still the same person, at least at the core. A year can only change someone so much."

"Him and his nightmares are none of your concern. Why don't you just leave us alone?" Draco begged with a complete abandon that the never would have had for himself. The controlled, cautious young man was gone, leaving this desperate boy to plead. "I don't care if you erase all our memories and abandon us in Antarctica, just leave us alone!"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" His eyes flashed a steely gray and he pounded a fist against the wall. He froze when Harry quivered and cried out, rushing over to him and wrapping his arms protectively around his slight frame. "I'm sorry, Harry, Dumbledore will be gone soon, I promise. Don't let him bother you; he's completely wrong and nothing he says should affect you." Harry whimpered. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Harry. I'll try not to lose my temper anymore, I pro-"

"That's not it," Harry whispered shakily. He took a deep breath before continuing.

"It's starting."

"Merlin!" Draco breathed. "Get out of here now!" he shouted at Dumbledore.

"I will not leave until Harry responds to my question," Dumbledore stated stubbornly, calmly meeting the blonde's gaze.

"You don't understand, you need to get out of here! I can't protect you!"

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe I just proved that I understand more than you think I do. I will not leave right now; we are at too crucial of a moment." Dumbledore spread his hands apart for emphasis, long sleeves of his sapphire robes flowing along with his arms.

"Fine, maybe you understand other stuff. Whatever. But you don't understand this, I guarantee it. Now if you want to live to see morning, you'll leave right now! Even if I could, I probably wouldn't save you in the first place." Draco knew he and Harry would be blamed for Dumbledore's death, even if they had not been able to help it and had done everything they could to convince the doddering old man to leave. With yet another murder staining their hands, this one a weighty and important person, there was no hope that they would live to see the end of the week.

"Mr. Malfoy, now is not the time for these games."

"Leave. Now."

"No." On the bed, Harry howled.

* * *

"Liquorice," Hermione said to the statue of the stone gargoyle, watching as it disappeared and the staircase took its place. "Come on, Ron, we don't have any time to lose!" Together the head girl and head boy raced up the spiral stair, knocking wildly at the door at the top. "Professor Dumbledore!"

There was no answer from inside the office, so Hermione pushed the door open. No one was inside. "Where is he?" she asked one of the portraits politely.

"Oh," the flustered looking woman said. Ron noted the half-empty bottle of brandy in her hand and the fact that she looked a bit tipsy. "He's er... um..." She fell over into a light doze, the alcohol slipping from her hands and spilling all over the intricately patterned Persian rug at her feet.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Ron demanded impatiently of all the portraits. "Come on, it's important!" The paintings all began to talk at once, causing the two students to cover their ears and wait for the clamor to calm down. "Not all of you!" Ron shrieked when they were done. "I just need one of you to tell me where the Headmaster is."

"You young people are so impatient these days!" a portly gentleman in a top hat and antique suit observed. "When I was alive, children knew better than to be so uppity with their elders. Why, one time when Morgan Lester decided to back talk to me we hung her from the ceiling for a few days."

"You're related to Filch, aren't you?" Ron noted dryly.

"My name is Argus Filch, and I was Headmaster of Hogwarts from-"

"I don't care!" Ron proclaimed, turning to another painting. "Where's the Headmaster?"

"What?" she screamed. "Speak up, I don't hear so well."

"Where is the Headmaster?" Ron repeated, though much louder.

The woman in the portrait, who would have been rather comely save for the fact that one ear was gone entirely, nodded. "Oh, dear me, he said something about visiting the bathroom." Ron and Hermione exchanged glances briefly. "Although I must admit, I never would have thought that the such a dignified person would have referred to the toilet as Mr. Potty."

"Mr. Potter? Did he say Mr. Potter?"

"Oh! That must have been it. That certainly makes much more sense!"

Ron rolled his eyes and was about to open his mouth to berate the portrait when Hermione grabbed his arm and began pulling him down towards the dungeons.

"We don't have any time to lose! Harry could transform any time now, and the Headmaster doesn't know!"

* * *

He felt as if he were on fire. His bones began to shift and crack, some disappearing and new ones growing out of nothing. Hair began to sprout all over his body and he felt his clothes tear and fall to the floor in a heap around him.

Harry lifted his nose to the air and sniffed, smelling the reek of human that permeated the room. He grinned wolfishly and howled, raising the hackles of the one who smelled like lemons. Suddenly, he sensed another wolfish presence, although it was slightly distorted as if not entirely human.

He turned towards the new, strange creature, approaching the blonde wolf cautiously. Gray eyes regarded him solemnly. The two wolves circled each other, sniffing and occasionally darting forward as they felt one another out.

_Hunt with me, brother,_ Harry tried to say, hoping that this odd wolf, who smelled of human, but a familiar, good human, could understand him.

_Do not hunt_, the other wolf advised, nipping the air with his teeth. _You will only cause problems for yourself if you do so._

_What do you mean? I hunger for the man flesh that I can smell. My belly calls out in hunger and yearns to be filled. My appetite must be sated._

_Not this night, not if you value your life._

_No human can kill me!_ The very idea was preposterous._ Are you a coward? Is that why you will not join me in the hunt? Very well. I shall kill and feast, leaving no remains for you, scavenger._

_You will not hunt this night!_ The pale wolf lunged at him, using his heavier weight to pin the dark wolf to the floor. Harry struggled against the paws digging into his shoulders, snapping with his jaw.

_Let me taste the man flesh! _he pleaded, writhing and kicking with his powerful hind legs.

_Do not hunt, or you will bring about your own destruction. Please, do not do this._ If he had been even partly human, Harry would have recognized the tone of desperation and despair that filled this unnatural wolf's voice and perhaps responded to it. As he was, however, he merely ignored the supplications, flinging the blonde off him with a sudden burst of strength.

The other wolf whimpered as he crashed into the wall, but Harry did not pay him any mind. His brain was focused entirely on the other human in the room and on delicious thoughts of a hot, steaming, bloody meal.

* * *

"Where's his room?" Hermione shrieked. "Come on, Ron, where is it?"

"It's down this way!" he screamed back, pulling her by the hand down a side corridor. "We're almost there!"

"Run faster!"

"It's not easy, running in these robes!"

"Ron, faster!" Ron grumbled, but picked up the pace. He skidded to a halt in front of two identical doors. "Which one is it, which one is it?" Hermione cried.

"I don't know!"

"What do you mean, you don't know? You were the one who snuck down here and tried to confront him-"

"I don't remember! It was really late and I was really angry."

"Fine!" Hermione roared, yanking one of the doors open. Nothing was inside. She muttered something that caused Ron to flush and turn away. "It's got to be this one then!" She pulled open the door.

Inside were two wolves. Ron gawked but Hermione plunged in unfazed, whipping out her wand. "Stupefy!" The black wolf, who she guessed was Harry, toppled over. The other did not seem to be conscious at all so she left him alone, turning instead to Dumbledore. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine. Although without you I must say that the situation would have been otherwise." Dumbledore stood and ushered his two pupils out of the room, locking the door securely as he did so. "Perhaps next time I will bring my wand; I had been leaving it in my office for fear of one of the boys grabbing hold of it."

"You shouldn't come down her alone," Hermione said crossly, then stopped, hand flying to her mouth in shock when she realised she had just chided the Headmaster.

"It is quite alright, Miss Granger. You are correct, as usual. From now on we shall have to be more careful around Mr. Potter." He paused for a moment, and his blue eyes sparked. "Perhaps it is time to call up Remus again."


	9. Chapter Nine

_"Harry Potter."_

_"Tom Riddle."_

_Emerald eyes clashed with ruby ones._

_"I'm not going to kill you, Harry," Voldemort assured him._

_"As if that made any difference last time. I would have rather been dead. I don't exactly enjoy being tortured."_

_"If you cooperate, there will be no need for torture ever again. You could be great Harry, powerful and strong. Dumbledore has been holding you back from your true potential. I, on the other hand, would encourage you to reach and even surpass it."_

_"Why should I trust you?" His voice quivered even as he fought to keep it still._

_"Because I've never lied to you, have I, Harry? I never told you that I was your friend only to turn on you at the slightest opportunity."_

_"No, you haven't..." Harry admitted reluctantly. Voldemort, sensing an opening, pressed the advantage. _

_"And I never will," he promised smoothly. "After all, where else do you have to go, who else will take you in? The Ministry would just as soon see you out of the picture, especially that blustering Fudge. As for Dumbledore and Hogwarts, they were quite willing to send you to Azkaban without even a semblance of a trial. Your relatives despise you and you have no other friends."_

_"I could support myself!" Harry claimed hotly._

_"How do you plan to do that?" Voldemort hissed, eyes narrowing as Harry shifted uncomfortably on the fine bed. "Your Gringotts account will be inaccessible; it is, after all, carefully monitored by Dumbledore. You have no marketable skills and are still underage. You would end up begging on the streets."_

_"That would be a better life than being your slave!" Harry raised his chin in defiance, though he remembered long nights with an empty stomach, especially the recent ones, and had no desire to repeat the experience._

_"Would it really? Besides, I do not ask for you to be my slave. If that was all I wanted I could have merely put you under the Imperius or brewed a mind-controlling potion. No, Harry, that is not my objective. What I want is for you to obey me of your own free will." Voldemort smiled with his lipless mouth at the shocked expression on Harry's face. _

_"Why?" he asked. "Why do you want me? I'm nothing special." Years of abuse at the hands of the Dursleys had taken their toll on the fragile boy. "I'm good for nothing except for getting myself into trouble." He was a freak, plain and simple._

_"Would I have hunted down your family if you were not important?" Voldemort shook his head in answer to his own question. "I'm not that much of a murderer, Harry. You have great power, power that can not be fully explored and utilized if you were to remain with the Order of the Phoenix."_

_"I didn't ask for any of this power!" Harry shook his head wildly. "I don't want it!"_

_"You have it, Harry. Now the only question is what you're going to do with it."_

_

* * *

_

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Draco ranted, pinning Harry down to the bed. Harry blinked groggily and tried to squirm out from under the other boy, but Draco kept him firmly beneath him.

"What are you talking about?" he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes with his one free hand and moaning at the pain that shot through him where Draco was bearing down on his bruised skin.

"You tried to kill Albus-bloody-Dumbledore! Now, under normal circumstances, I would fully approve, but we're prisoners in case you've forgotten! Do you want to have us sent off to Azkaban?" Draco's blazing silver eyes bored into his emerald ones and held his gaze.

Memories of the night came rushing back to him, dim and half-formed as his wolfish memories always were, but with enough strength that he remembered his hunt. "Bloody hell," he moaned. "I'm sorry, Draco, but it's not like I could help it!"

Draco glared at him for a moment longer before sighing and conceding the point. "You're right, of course." He paused for a few seconds, studying Harry intently. "But don't think I'm any less mad."

"Maybe I can help with that," Harry purred with a suggestive smirk. He grabbed Draco by his pale, long locks, and brought the other boy's head close to his, catching his red lips in a kiss. Their lips remained locked for as long as they could last without breathing. They broke apart and gasped for air, then quickly descended into the passionate embrace once more.

Without consciously realizing it, Harry and Draco rolled over so that Harry was now pinning the pale, handsome boy beneath him, ravishing him with his mouth. Harry moved his face to Draco's neck, kissing him enthusiastically.

"Harry," Draco moaned in between breathless gaps. "I'm not mad anymore."

Harry stopped his snogging for just a moment. "Then I'm forgiven?" he asked with wide eyes.

"Yes!" Draco sighed, pouncing on Harry and proceeding to snog him senseless.

After an immeasurable time the two stopped, entwining their arms about each other and holding the other close. "When are we going to get out of here?" Harry almost whined. "I don't know if I can put up with Dumbledore for much longer, especially when he knows that I'm a werewolf."

"Soon, Harry," Draco promised soothingly, rubbing the others' forearm comfortingly. "And don't worry about that Muggle-lover anymore. He can't do anything to you anymore."

Harry's brilliant pools of bright green shone up at him with liquid light. "You don't understand, Draco. He was the closest thing to a father I ever had. And then he..." His eyes hardened into crystal gemstones capable of slicing diamonds. His fists curled into balls and his breathing pattern roughened. "He tossed me aside just because I wouldn't tell him everything. What was I supposed to do, tell him he was perfectly justified in tying me up and treating me like a murderer? He didn't even have any damn proof!"

"And for that he will die," Draco solemnly swore. "All you have to do is last long enough for us to get out of here." Draco kissed Harry again, a deep and lengthy embrace that comforted Harry more than a thousand words of reassurance could have.

A sharp clearing of a throat interrupted them. Flushing a dark rose, the two boys sprang apart, neither having grown up in a household where public displays of affection were acceptable. They gazed sheepishly at the floor for a moment before raising their eyes to meet the intruder.

"Professor Lupin?" Harry asked, astonished. The former Defense professor and only remaining Marauder smiled sadly, his years weighing heavily upon his face. His honey coloured eyes were surrounded by premature wrinkles and his hair was beginning to thin noticeably. His shabby robes, quite possibly the ones Harry had first seen his father's friend in, hung loosely about his thin form, a testament to the hardships the werewolf had faced.

"It's good to see you again, Harry." Harry did not respond, unsure of how to act. Lupin had never accused him of being a Death Eater, but he had never risen in his defense either. He had been away at the time, and Harry had no idea of how to gauge his reaction.

"I heard about what happened a few nights ago," Lupin remarked hesitantly after seeing that Harry was not about to make a move, "and I'm sorry about it."

"I don't need your pity," Harry spat, fed up with apologies that meant nothing.

"I don't pity you. I'm empathetic towards you. After all, I'm in the same situation myself, aren't I?"

"I suppose," Harry answered, fighting the frown that appeared on his face and furrowed his brow.

Draco fidgeted, losing his patience. "Harry, remember that Dumbledore must have sent him. You can't trust him."

"Mr. Malfoy, while Dumbledore did indeed request that I talk to the two of you, I am not serving his interests. He did not tell me to say anything or do anything specifically. I come as the friend of Harry's father."

"Do you really?" Harry queried silkily. "My father would not be pleased with who I am now, and I doubt that you are either."

Lupin shook his head sorrowfully. "It is not the path I would have foreseen for you, true. But that doesn't stop me from caring about you. Life has many unexpected twists and turns along the way, and who can say that this is not your destiny?"

"I don't give a damn about destiny or fate or any of that nonsense!" Harry exploded. "It's that prophecy that landed me where I am in the first place!" He trembled with barely controlled rage. He breathed deeply in an attempt to calm down, trying to remember that he was no longer a willful child any longer.

"The path of our future is not set, for we haven't walked down it yet," Lupin recited calmly.

"I've forgotten how philosophical you could be," Harry mumbled dryly.

"I've had little much else to do but think," Remus muttered bitterly. "No one will knowingly hire a werewolf, especially in these dark times."

"You could always join Voldemort," Draco suggested, though his tone was hard as if he did not really expect the older man to even consider his offer.

"I have thought about it," Lupin admitted, shocking both young men, "but I don not think that is the answer for me. I am too entrenched in my ways to consider changing my alliance now. I would not enjoy being sent off to kill, especially innocents."

"How do you survive?" Harry wondered quietly.

"What?"

"How do you survive?" Harry repeated, cupping his chin in his hands and leaning forward to study Lupin intently. "You're a werewolf, a dark creature, and yet you still fight for the side of the Light. Why haven't you succumbed to the darkness? I know it must pull at you."

"I don't know. I suppose that for a time I was fighting for you, to keep you safe and out of Voldemort's grasp. Now I think I must be fighting in the memory of James and Lily."

"Would you kill me, Lupin?" Harry whispered so softly that he was nearly inaudible. "If we came across each other on the field of battle, would you be able to slay me?"

"Harry..." Draco warned, stiffening at the desperate tone in the raven-haired boy's voice. Harry ignored him, focusing entirely on Lupin.

"No. I... don't think I could."

"Because of who my parents were to you, what they meant." It was a statement and not a question, laced deeply with biting sorrow and bitterness.

"No. I couldn't kill you because of who you are. You may be fighting for the man I hate, but I couldn't kill you. Even were you not your parents' son I would not be able to slay you. Taking you out of this world would be a crime. Even with the horrible things you've done, you were still a good boy once. And whatever drove you to be as you are now, I'm sure you had good reason."

Harry launched himself at Lupin, hugging him tightly and causing Draco to growl, even though there was nothing more than friendship in the embrace. "You wouldn't have doubted me when I came back, not if you had been there."

"No. I wouldn't have. And I don't understand why Dumbledore did-" The joyous expression on Harry's face closed off immediately, leaving a blank stone mask. He stepped back and regarded the man with icy green eyes.

"You forget yourself," he warned coldly. "I am not the boy you knew. Dumbledore did not trust me because he is a paranoid, patronizing old fool whose only purpose is manipulation. It is because of him that I am who I am, but I have no regrets."

"Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry about all this-"

"I don't want your pity!" he screamed, taking a step forward and causing Remus to flinch involuntarily. "I sit at the Dark Lord's right hand and have no need of anything! I was forced into this path a long time ago, and it destroyed who I was. There's no going back."

"You can only travel forward," Lupin agreed sorrowfully. "The only question is what path you will take. You have an opportunity here, Harry. You can change, make things better."

"That's what I'm doing!" Harry roared with blazing eyes. "I'm ridding the world of filth, trash like Dumbledore and Muggles like the Dursleys. I'm righting wrongs and setting things back the way they should be!"

"You have no right to judge us!" Draco joined in, rising to stand next to Harry. "You don't know enough, don't understand enough, to see the full picture. There's more to this war than the senseless torture and slaying of Muggles and Mudbloods!"

"How is killing ever right?" Lupin questioned softly, sadness causing his amber eyes to grow.

"You wanted me to kill Voldemort! From the time I entered the Wizarding world I was expected to eventually face him and kill him. How is this any different?"

"There is a difference between putting down one evil man and slaughtering thousands of innocents!" Lupin lectured sternly, adopting the patronizing, condescending tone of a teacher.

"You make it sound as if the Dark Lord is a rabid dog!" Draco interjected.

"He is like one!" Lupin sighed heavily and paused. "This is not working out the way I had intended it to; perhaps we should start again?"

"Whatever. We'll just end up in the same position again. Why don't you just leave Harry and I alone?"

"Because I care for Harry!"

"Do you really?" Harry interrupted quietly. "How can you care for me? I can see the look in your eyes, Lupin. You think I'm a monster, just like the rest of them. Something that needs to be quietly drowned in a pond like a bad puppy or collared and controlled. So I ask you: do you truly care for me?"

"Of course! I told you! I couldn't kill you! I would have helped defend you if I had-"

"But you weren't. So we'll never know."

Lupin closed his eyes and his face crumpled in despair. A small, almost unnoticeable crystalline tear plummeted from the corner of his right eye and splashed against the dusty flagstones. "Why are you doing this, Harry? Are you so determined to drive everyone who's ever loved you away?"

"Open your eyes, damn you! I'm not the one pushing anyone away; they are shoving me out of their sight. Draco still stands beside me! He doesn't just pretend to care about me, he truly does!"

"Why do you think that you are the only one with a claim to Harry?" Draco demanded. "Why should he be yours, to shape as you please? Why should he have to follow your orders and act like a Gryffindor?"

"He is a Gryffindor!" Lupin shouted, beginning to lose control.

"Only because I was manipulated into believing that all Slytherins were bastards," Harry whispered snarkily. "I'll bet Dumbledore never told anyone, did he? Well, Lupin, the Sorting Hat wanted me in Slytherin."

"That's not true! You're the son of James and Lily, both Gryffindors to the core!"

"I am not my parents! I never even knew them! How am I- why should I- base my life around a pair of people whom I've never even met?"

"They died for you!"

"Why didn't they live for me? They could have joined Voldemort! If they had, I would have been safe for at least a little while longer! I wouldn't have had to live with the Dursleys!"

"You can debate what-ifs all day but that doesn't change the way things are now!"

"No, Lupin," Harry stated quite calmly, regaining his temper so quickly that Remus was left staring at him in shock. "We can't change a damn thing about the past. It's too dangerous to meddle around with time anyway. Even if I had a Time Turner, I would not change anything. The consequences would be too-far reaching, too catastrophic."

Draco nodded wisely. "If all of life on Earth forms a great tapestry, Harry's thread is clearly one of the strongest. If it is changed, the entire weave changes with it."

"I'm not saying that we should alter the past," Lupin clarified pleadingly, "only that we should work to improve the future."

"And I already told you that's what I'm doing! I told you that we'd merely end up having the same conversation again!"

Lupin groaned in defeat and massaged his eyes with the heels of his hands. Without a word he left the room.

"That went better than expected," Draco announced to break the silence that descended in the wake of Lupin's absence.

"We weren't expecting him at all, so how could it go better than what we expected?" Harry commented irritably. "I hate him! I hate them all!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" Being locked in a small room with no amusements and constant badgering by their enemies was beginning to irk both of the boys.

"I don't know!" Harry whined, whirling around and banging his fists against the wall. He kept his arms above his head and leaned forward until his forehead was resting against the cool stone.

"Damn it, Harry," Draco snapped, "there's nothing that I can do!"

"I know that! It's just I hate this! I hate being locked up and I hate having to see all these people and I hate Dumbledore!"

"We need to get out of here," Draco said, casting about the plain room glumly.

* * *

"What's he doing here?" Ron asked, glaring at the professor at the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, one of the few times Ron had ever heard her say that. "I thought he was still in St. Mungo's."

"Wish he'd stayed," Ron muttered, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Why can't we ever have a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"Well, it gives our lives a sort of running gag. You know, when we're thirty years old we can look back at our Hogwarts days and laugh over how the Defense position was cursed and whatnot."

"If we live to be thirty! Honestly, how are we supposed to be able to face Death Eaters if we don't even have a regular professor this year?"

"There's always the D.A.," Hermione reminded him. "And it's not like Dumbledore didn't try to get us someone. But all the eligible candidates are dead or busy fighting. We're just lucky that most of the teachers lived through the last war and can take turns teaching us."

"Yeah, but what's Lockhart got to teach us except how not to throw a curse?" Ron asked, for in the front of the room in all his nancing glory was Gilderoy Lockhart, resplendent in his favourite lilac robes, blonde hair crimped and curled and perfectly arranged.

"Good morning, class!" he simpered with a roguish wink. "I'm sure you all remember me. After all, I'm rather hard to forget!"

"Unfortunately," Ron murmured, causing Hermione to elbow him sharply. "Ow!"

"That leads me to our lesson today! Memory charms!"

"Should you really be attempting one?" Hermione queried with false saccharine sweetness. "After all, Professor, what if it backfires? I mean, you could forget everything!" Ron stared at Hermione in shock.

"Did you just...?" Ron was utterly flabberghasted. His ears twitched sporadically as he gawked at his girlfriend. Hermione held a forced smile on her face with considerable effort.

Lockhart, however, completely missed the sarcasm. "Not to worry, miss," he answered with a shake of his long pointer finger, "I'm quite an expert at these sorts of things."

"But, professor, when is this going to come in useful? After all, the only purpose that I can think of for them would be illegal. I mean, what would happen if these fell into the wrong hands? Someone could alter another person's memories and take credit for their work!" Hermione adopted a fake expression of horror, opening her mouth into a small "o" and clasping her hands over her lips dramatically.

Ron chortled, trying to turn his laughs into a hacking cough but failing. He ended up gasping for air, watching smugly as Lockhart paled slightly and waved one hand in dismissal.

"Oh, well, I'm sure that won't happen," Lockhart confided, flustered. "Anyway, they are quite useful! When applied correctly, memory charms can completely change a person."

"Are you trying to say that if we cast a memory charm on You-Know-Who he'll prance around like a schoolboy and forget all about being evil?" Dean Thomas snorted, earning him reproachful glares from most of the class. You-Know-Who was not one to be joked about.

"It is certainly an interesting possibility!" Lockhart enthused, causing the students to roll their eyes at the stupidity of the man.

"Why can't you teach us a practical lesson? After all, with all your exploits, I'm sure you have a vast library of spells that would be useful against the Death Eaters." Hermione smiled sweetly, but her eyes shone with the light of challenge.

"Now, I can't go giving away all my secrets!" Lockhart replied with a lopsided grin which he must have practised in front of the mirror for hours. All of his perfectly white and exquisitely shaped teeth glinted in the pale winter light emitting from the stained glass windows. Seamus Finnigan gagged loudly and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The class snickered and rolled their eyes, preparing for a period of nonsense and posturing. They were not disappointed.

* * *

_Draco deftly maneuvered his fingers, slipping them through loops and pulling, forming a complex web of string cleverly strung between his fingers. To a Muggle it would have appeared as if he were playing a child's game of Cat's Cradle, a view that would have caused the blond wizard to scoff at the foolishness of such lesser creatures._

_The intercrossed strings formed a complicated pattern only recognizable to someone trained in the art of the ancient magic, a symbol for protection. Draco twirled his thumbs, watching as the mass shifted and writhed to form a completely different picture, this one standing for true love. _

_Draco lifted the loops off his pinkies casually, twining the threads instead about his wrists and inverting his hands. If he squinted he could just make out the form of a dragon breathing fire in the nest of fibers. He smiled fondly down at his namesake and began to pick apart his masterpiece._

_He was just about to rethread the string about his fingers when he heard a moan coming from the silk-covered bed. _

_"What now, Potter?" he asked irritably, heaving a long-suffering sigh. Harry did not respond except to thrash around a bit and groan deep in his throat. _

_"Just having another nightmare," Draco said, leaning back in his seat and returning to his contemplation of his string._

_Harry screamed, a sound so tortured and terrified that Draco had trouble believing a mere human was able to pour such emotional depth into a single, keening wail. "Ha... Potter? What's wrong?" Draco noted the concern in his voice and wondered why he was caring for his nemesis._

_Harry's back arched and he lifted himself off the mattress in an almost impossible feat of flexibility. He continued to scream, shaking violently with his hands spasming intermittently._

_Draco leapt onto the bed, attempting to settle Harry down. After all, the Dark Lord had entrusted Harry to his care and he could not fail his soon-to-be master. He ignored the stirring in the pit of his stomach that hinted of a deeper, personal reason for his actions, focusing on snatching at Harry's flailing limbs._

_"Stop moving!" he commanded in exasperation. Finally he threw himself on top of the slight boy, stilling his body through the weight of his own. Draco panted lightly, struggling from the effort of maintaining his hold on Harry._

_Emerald eyes blinked up at him. He had never really noticed it before, for the thick, ugly glasses had always been in the way, but Harry truly had the most amazing eyes. "What are you doing?" Harry shrieked._

_Draco shook his head to clear the thoughts that those eyes conjured and focused on Harry. "What?" he asked stupidly._

_"Why the hell are you on top of me? Get off!"_

_Draco narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "For your information, I was stopping you from killing yourself from your little seizure." Now it was Harry's turn to ask what idiotically. "You were having a nightmare!"_

_Harry chewed his lip and rolled his eyes. "I know that, Malfoy. That doesn't explain what you're doing on top of me."_

_Malfoy stared at Harry's lips, fascinated by the way they moved. His brain, feeling the rush of hormones that had been building up over the last several minutes, closed down completely. "Just shut up, will you Potter?" he suggested, lowering his mouth and kissing Harry on the lips._


	10. Chapter Ten

_Harry moved his eyes back and forth, trying very hard to think clearly. He found it increasingly difficult with Malfoy's tongue playing across his lips and attempting to slip past them and into his mouth. What did he think he was doing, exactly? _

_"Mmph! Mmphuf!" he tried to say, but his words were cut off as the insistent tongue slid past his defenses and began warring with his own. To his surprise, Harry found that he was responding. _

_That thought gave him the energy to shove Malfoy off him. He glared at the pale boy who had tumbled ungracefully to the floor and was gingerly picking himself up from the heap of limbs and robes he was currently entangled in._

_"What was that all about?" he demanded, sitting up and drawing his knees up to his chest. He rested his chin on top of his legs carefully, ensuring that he never lost eye contact with the flustered boy. _

_"Er... I don't know," Malfoy admitted, at least having the decency to flush a dark rose as he realised his actions. "Hormones?" He sounded as if he wanted to believe his own explanation and wasn't quite able to._

_"We're enemies! We hate each other!" Harry insisted. "Hormones don't come along and change all that!"_

_Malfoy recovered some of his cool composure at Harry's furious tone. "You didn't seem to mind at the time!" _

_"I shoved you off!"_

After _I kissed you," Malfoy pointed out shrewdly. _

_"Did Voldemort put you up to this?" Harry asked, almost desperately. If that was all this was, then he could live with that._

_"No," Malfoy answered. Harry's face fell. "I did it because... I don't know why! It just sort of happened!"_

_"Fine," Harry muttered. "This is just great. I'm captured by my archenemy and then all of a sudden his little crony starts snogging me!"_

_"It wasn't like that, Potter!" Draco protested, not quite sure what exactly he was disagreeing with._

_"What wasn't?" He crossed his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth a little, impatiently waiting for an answer._

_"You agreed to come to here!"_

_"It's not like I had a choice! And you would have taken me anyway! Besides, what was I supposed to do, try to run away from you right after having been bit by that werewolf..." He trailed off, eyes widening in surprise. "Please tell me that was all a dream!" he pleaded, rubbing his eyes. He stopped in shock. "Where are my glasses?"_

_"Somewhere in the middle of the Forbidden Forest," Draco replied, responding to the easiest question first. "At least, I haven't seen them since then."_

_"But I can't see without my glasses!" the dark boy complained._

_"You're seeing just fine now. You're a werewolf, Potter. They don't need things like glasses."_

_"Hell's bells," he cursed, "so I really am a... a werewolf."_

_"Yes."_

_"Bet Voldemort's happy."_

_"You could say that."_

_The two boys stared at anything but each other for several drawn out minutes, each trying to pretend that the other did not exist and that they had not just been snogging. _

_"He wants me to join him." Harry was almost unnaturally calm now, an observation that surprised Draco. The Harry he knew was intense; full of fire and passion. "And I don't have much of a choice. After all, where else would I go?" he reasoned. _

_"I'm supposed to kill him. That's what I was born for. And yet here I find myself about to help him." He sighed in defeat. "There's nothing else for me to do, no one else for me to turn to. Not after Dumbledore's reaction. And I hardly think that they would find me any more acceptable as a werewolf. They'll probably kill me on sight. After all, they're already convinced that I'm Dark."_

_"Wait, you're giving up?" Draco queried incredulously. "You're Harry-bloody-Potter. You don't just give up."_

_"I'm not!" Harry denied, scared of how much the accusation did not sting. Perhaps he had been through too much these last few weeks to really care about his Gryffindor streak of persistence. After all, it had nearly gotten him killed. "I'm just bowing to the inevitable."_

_"Never thought I'd hear that from you," Draco whistled._

_"Me neither," Harry admitted, staring at the silk sheets with sudden interest._

_

* * *

_

Dumbledore opened the door softly, startling Harry. He looked up at the slight noise from where he had been studying Draco as he slept, eyes narrowing instantly with scorn. "Go away," he commanded sulkily. He turned his attention away from Dumbledore, trying instead to focus on the flickering patterns made from the blazing torches. That particular spot looked like a phoenix for a moment, he noted. Of course, that only reminded him of Fawkes, and through him, Dumbledore, causing him to scowl fiercely.

"You are in no position to dictate my actions," Dumbledore reminded him. Harry grimaced and turned away. In the past year he had grown used to having others obey him without question. It was a hard habit to break.

"You've tried everything. You've talked to me, you made me see Granger and Weasley, you even brought in Lupin. It's not going to work; you can't change me. I chose this path and I'm not going to shirk from it."

"Hope springs eternal," Dumbledore recited gravely.

"Not if you dam the river."

"That's what you're trying to do, isn't it, Harry?"

"I've never hidden my intentions, unlike some." His words held a bitterness and an almost-longing that drew Dumbledore's attention.

"My interests have always been protecting you and the safety of the Wizarding world," he stated calmly, reaching for the sole chair in the room and pulling it towards him. He sat down, feeling his bones creaking with the movement. Never before had he ever truly felt his age. Harry, of course, had a way of changing nearly everything. He reached inside a pocket of his robes. "Sherbet lemon?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Has anyone ever taken one from you?"

"No. No one else seems to understand my fondness for them."

"Well, I don't either," Harry cut off that line of conversation abruptly, forcing Dumbledore to retreat with the original.

"Harry, everything I have done I have done because I thought that it was best-"

"Including sending me to the Dursleys'?" Harry interrupted sharply.

"Yes. They offered you a stable childhood and the familial protection."

"Oh, yes, my childhood was real stable," he muttered sarcastically. "Never a single surprise to shake its foundations. All I had were a few pieces of hand-me-down clothes and occasionally a scrap of bread, if I was lucky."

He shook his head. "As for the protection, it amounted to nothing after fourth year. Didn't it ever occur to you that by using my blood, Voldemort also gained the protection of the wards? He could have killed me at any time he wanted!"

"He did not kill you, however," Dumbledore noted. "Unless you are a ghost," he added, trying to inject some humor into the dialogue.

"Funny," Harry said in a manner that made it clear that Dumbledore was anything but. "Besides, how did you know he wouldn't kill me?"

Dumbledore was caught off his guard. He blinked rapidly, mind racing for an answer. Harry noticed the hesitation and locked on to it, eyes roaring with emerald flames. "You knew that he wanted me to join him, didn't you?" he asked, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with an almost audible click. "That's why it was okay to send me back to those Muggles, because you knew I'd be safe."

"Harry-" Dumbledore warned but was immediately silenced from a sharp wave of Harry's hand.

"Shut up; I don't want to hear it. It all makes sense now. You knew all about his plans for me. That's why you were so willing to believe that I had joined him! All that time you knew he would try to turn me, and you never warned me!" He realised he was shouting suddenly.

Draco woke up suddenly, hands groping for a wand that was not there. "What's going on?" he asked, looking between an irate Harry and an ashamed Dumbledore, brows lowered in confusion.

"Dumbledore just revealed more of his manipulations," Harry spat, not looking at Draco. "I wonder how I ever trusted him."

Dumbledore hung his head, realising that he had perhaps lost any chance he had of convincing the Boy-Who-Lived to help them. "I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered, trying not to feel the burn of the piercing glare. "I'm so sorry." He walked out of the room as if in a trance, the little hope that he had regained with the capture of Harry disappearing like a Dandelion puff as it was scattered by the wind.

Draco followed Harry as he paced from side to side of their narrow cell, muttering to himself about self-righteous Headmasters and foolish trust. "Harry, calm down," he advised, watching as the steps faltered and Harry blinked owlishly. He had forgotten Draco was even in the room with him.

"Oh. Sorry." He paused for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, then immediately resumed his pacing.

Draco followed him from side to side as he walked anxiously. "It's been a month. He should have sent help by now. Something's gone wrong. We're never going to get out of here."

"Harry, you know that's not so. It's complicated work, breaking two well-guarded prisoners out of the sole sanctuary left for the Light in England. We'll have help soon, don't worry." He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched in a feline manner.

"I have to worry! I don't have anything else to do!" He threw a punch at the wall, stopping just centimeters short of painfully bloody knuckles.

"We could snog," Draco suggested helpfully.

Harry snorted. "I'm in no mood for snogging. I need to get out of here, now!"

"I can help with that!" a new alto voice called out. Harry whirled around to see a petite brunette with short-cropped hair grinning at him with copper eyes.

"Blaise!" he cried out. He blinked at the girl and then let out a short bark of laughter. "What are you wearing?"

"Commando clothes!" came the cheerful reply. "I figure I ought to do the thing properly!" Indeed, the tan girl was wearing dark camouflage and had streaks of black under each golden eye. She ran a hand through her hair.

"I've come to rescue you," she informed them joyfully. "Took a while to figure out where you were of course, even for me. Slytherins aren't well-trusted these days."

"Were we ever?" Draco snickered.

"I can't imagine why," Harry remarked, rolling his eyes. "So what's the plan?"

"Plan?" Blaise stared at them blankly. "Er... get you outside the door and make a run for it? I wasn't told what to do, only to get you out and to the Dark Lord."

Draco heaved a huge sigh. "You do realise that teachers will be patrolling the corridors, don't you? What are we supposed to do, just grin and wave and ask them to let us on our way?"

"If you said 'pretty, pretty please, it might work!" Blaise defended herself hotly. "But I was given a new toy for this mission. It'll definitely help!" She pulled a wad of silvery material out of her pocket and waved it about with a flourish. "Tada!"

"Wicked!"

Blaise smirked. "If they can't see us, they can't snatch us. So get under and let's go!"

"Only too glad," Harry muttered. The sooner he was away from Dumbledore and plotting his death, the better.

* * *

Ron and Hermione slowly walked through the corridors, wands drawn and held at the ready. These days there were far too many dangers, even in the previously secure halls of Hogwarts. Unwittingly, their feet dragged them inexorably towards the dungeons.

Ron stopped suddenly, a scowl darkening his freckled face. "Do we have to go?" he whined.

"Of course we do!" Hermione insisted. "He can't do anything to us locked up as he is, and I want to talk to him!" She paused. "What was that? It sounded like someone growled."

"Lumos!" Nothing appeared in the faint circle of light. "You're just imagining things, Hermione."

Hermione nodded but appeared anxious, knuckles tightening around her wand.

"What are two Gryffindors doing down here?" a light, cultured voice questioned from behind them. Blaise stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips, feet evenly space and head cocked to one side. Her wide, tilted eyes bore into the Head boy and Head girl as if searching for something. "Your kind doesn't belong in the dungeons."

"I'm Head girl," Hermione proclaimed pompously.

"And I'm a Prefect. That still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"We have every right-"

"I never said you would get into trouble," Blaise responded with a wicked smirk. "Visiting Harry Potter, were you?"

"What's it to you?" Hermione demanded.

"Nothing," Blaise commented lightly, her eyes dancing mischievously. "I was just wondering what possible business two Gryffindors could have to do with the two Death Eaters."

"Harry is- was- our friend. And I don't have to explain myself to you!"

"Then why did you?" Smirking as Hermione and Ron scrambled for words, she skipped off, whistling a bright tune.

Ron turned to Hermione, blinking rapidly. "What was she wearing?"

Hermione pursed her lips, frowning in concentration. "Something's going on here."

"Where are you?" Blaise whispered, casting about the Entrance Hall. "It's not like I can see you!" A hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her back into the shadows. She reached into the pocket of her baggy fatigues for her wand, and pivoted, finding herself pointing her wand at thin air.

"Calm down, Blaise, it's just us," Draco said, pulling the Invisibility Cloak down so that there were two heads, one dark and one light, floating eerily in midair.

"Oh. Right." She pocketed her wand again, nonplussed. "I told you this would work!"

"We're not out of this yet," Harry reminded her.

"Yeah, but we're close enough. I threw Granger and Weasley off our trail and we haven't seen anyone else. All we've got to do is get to the edge of the wards and we're good to go."

"I'm not relaxing 'til we're back," Harry grumbled.

"Nothing's going to happen!" Blaise insisted, absentmindedly ruffling her hair, which settled back into place perfectly.

"Don't say that!" Draco instructed. "You'll jinx us!"

"Harry, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Zambini, if you would please accompany me to my office," a new voice commanded, causing the trio to wince. Dumbledore was regarding them through his half-moon spectacles, his expression a mix of sadness and determination. "We have much to discuss." Flanking him was an angry Snape, a peeved McGonagall, and Granger and Weasley.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Harry spat, glaring at the Headmaster with disgust.

"Mr. Potter, look at this logically. You have no wand and you can not Apparate," McGonagall assessed the situation.

"I'm no Ravenclaw! I don't care about logic! I'm not staying one bloody minute more than necessary in this prison!" He spun around and raced for the large double doors, instinctively dodging stumbling hexes and the occasional "Impedimenta!"

Draco and Blaise wasted no time in following his lead, breaking away from the small confrontation and sprinting after Harry.

He ran towards the Forbidden Forest, hoping to bypass the wards and regain his ability to Apparate. Vaguely, he heard the crashes of his pursuers behind him, but he paid them no heed. The important thing was escaping.

A wolf howled at the moon. Something within Harry, the part of him that would eternally remain lupine, wanted to howl back in return. He stopped, staring at the edges of the Forest with wide, unblinking eyes. The last time he had ventured forth into the Forbidden Forest, he had been bitten, an event that would affect the rest of his life. What would happen this time?

"Harry! Run!" Draco shouted through his heavy pants. Harry made no move except to shudder slightly, eyes unfocusing.

Draco tackled him from behind, using his momentum to drag the smaller wizard deep into the forest. After a few meters of stumbling along, Harry woke up enough to pick his own path. It was a dark night and the moon was shadowed, making it difficult to see.

Harry tripped over a tree root that appeared to pop out of nowhere, sprawling onto his face with a painful "oomph!" The snow softened the impact somewhat, but not enough. The wind was roughly knocked out of him.

"Get up!" Draco cried from behind him. The blonde boy hurried over to him, dragging him up with his arms. "Come on, the wards disappear in maybe a half kilometer more."

Harry's feet raked against the ground for the first few steps but he soon regained his light, quick gait. "Where's Blaise?" he yelled to Draco.

"Over there!" he hollered back, gesticulating to an area far to the right. Blaise, in her camouflage, nearly blended in to the dark, gnarled trees. Only her face was clearly visible, her copper eyes flashing dangerously in the scant moonlight. She glanced about herself wildly and locked on to the streaking forms of Harry and Draco. She began to angle herself over towards them.

"Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" she commented lightly. "The snow's such a lovely colour this evening."

Harry could not help but grin at the unexpected levity Blaise was able to bring to the dire situation. "Yes, quite marvelous. Fancy a bit of hot chocolate?"

"That would be ever so enchanting," Draco remarked, rolling his eyes at the playful banter. He threw a glance over his shoulder and shuddered. "They'll be able to track our footprints through the snow. There's no chance of them losing us."

"We'll just have to Apparate before they show up," Harry answered with grim determination.

All three quickened their pace, lengthening their strides until their legs groaned from the stretch. Snape and Weasley, however, were long-legged and lanky, easily able to catch up to the fleeing trio.

"Stupefy!" they both shouted, not pausing to watch as their bright bursts of light zoomed towards the two wizards and witch. Harry ducked and dragged Draco down with him while Blaise simply wove from side to side.

"How much more?" she asked, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on her brow. Her cheeks were crimson with effort and she was beginning to puff slightly.

"Not much!" Hopefully.

* * *

_Harry Potter watched the world rolling by through the rain-streaked panel of glass. He sighed, massaging his bruised chin with thin, pale fingers and winced when he encountered a tender area. His messy black fringe flopped into his eyes and he blew it out of the way with a puff of air, exasperated. His hair got him into so much trouble with Aunt Petunia, just by being wild and untamed. She did not care that nothing could hold it in place. _

_He remembered just two days ago when he had snatched a bottle of hair spray from the bathroom cabinet. Stupidly he had thought that maybe, just maybe, if he could make his hair behave then Aunt Petunia would show some tenderness for him, if only for just a while._

_He had emptied the contents of the aerosol can into his hair, coughing from the sickly odour of the spray and frantically smoothing his hair down with his small hands. The end result had been a tangled mess that, if possible, was even more of a rat's nest than before. Now, however, it was hardened that way._

_Aunt Petunia shrieked when she found him and instantly set about washing out his hair. The entire time she lectured him about wasting their precious materials. After all, a freak like him did not deserve this much shampoo. Her little Dudders needed it so much more. How was he to ever wash his hair when Harry, like the ungrateful whelp he was, used it up?_

_"You're a stealing, filthy wretch," she had informed him as she scrubbed mercilessly at his hair, sharp nails leaving long, angry red marks along his scalp and neck. "Good-for-nothing filcher, that's all you are. You'll never amount to nothing, just like your parents."_

_Harry's eyes had lit up like two emeralds catching the light of the sun at the mention of his mum and dad. It was rare for any of his relatives to mention them, and he treasured the little bits and pieces he gleaned off their scant information._

_In the end, however, the brief rant about his parents' total disrespect for the natural of order things was not worth it. Once Uncle Vernon returned home after a long, tiring day's work at the office (yelling at people and eating jam donuts was, after all, an exhausting business) he had smacked Harry around a bit and locked him in his cupboard. _

_He shuddered at the memory of dark hours spent alone in the small space, huddled into a ball in one corner and eyes squeezed tightly shut. He did not like the dark. Something about it frightened him, almost as if something bad had happened to him that would forever link darkness with terror._

_Uncle Vernon seemed to realise this and took particularly perverse pleasure in locking him in for his punishment, eyes glowing with wicked sadism._

_At the moment, however, the overweight man was concentrating on the traffic, muttering to himself about long traffic lights and crazy drivers, occasionally shaking a fist in the direction of another car._

_He pulled the car into an empty parking space outside of the movie rental store. Harry stared at the cheerily lit red sign with awe, noting the rows upon rows of neat tapes with colourful boxes and eye-catching titles._

_Uncle Vernon turned around to face him, his mustaches quivering with irritation even though Harry had done nothing to upset him. "Don't touch anything, boy, or you'll regret it. If it wasn't for the fact that I wouldn't leave you home alone to mess up the house and we couldn't find you a babysitter for free, you'd not even be here. Understand?"_

_"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he responded respectfully. He received the same speech every time he went anywhere with his relatives. Although this was admittedly not often, he still knew just what his uncle would say._

_His uncle lumbered into the store, leaving Harry to follow behind in his wake. He looked at everything with wide eyes, trying to gather in as much as possible. _

_A bright movie caught his eye. The cover depicted a witch in a wizard in bright blue robes, waving their wands about with smiles on their faces. Forgetting his uncle's threats, he reached for the box with trembling hands, studying the pictures intently._

_The wizard had black hair and glasses and was grinning handsomely, one arm around the witch at his side. She was beautiful, the most beautiful creature Harry had ever seen. She had bright eyes the exact shade as Harry's own and shining red hair that fell past her shoulders in loose waves._

_"These are my parents," he whispered to himself, smiling at them softly. "And their a witch and a wizard. One day they're going to come and take me away from the Dursleys and tell me all it was a terrible mistake. And they'll teach me magic-"_

_"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" Uncle Vernon roared, snatching the small boy by the scruff of his neck and pulling him upwards so that the two were eye to eye._

_"I... I was just looking!" he protested, trembling. Uncle Vernon removed the box from his shivering hands and froze when he saw the cover._

_"I though I told you there was no such thing as magic! It doesn't exist and even if it did, it wouldn't help you now!" Harry found himself being dragged along to the counter where he paid for several movies with scantily-clad women that he did not think Aunt Petunia would approve of if she saw them._

_He heard titters of laughter and looked up to see a group of boys from school snickering at him. He flushed darkly in embarrassment and stared at his scruffy shoes, promising himself silently, "When I grow up and learn magic, I'll make sure to curse Uncle Vernon. He deserves it!"_


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Death Eaters were circled around the large rock formation, heads bowed in obedience and black cloaks seeming to disappear into the darkness of the night behind them. They blocked out the few stars with their forms, making the world seem at once much larger and much smaller._

_In the center Voldemort stood upright, tall and proud. His serpentine features held a lazy, condescending smirk of utter triumph and his eyes were wide, crimson irises flashing in the light from the fire beneath him. _

_Harry shivered partially from the cold but mostly from the sinking realisation that he was actually about to betray all that he held dear. For nearly a month he had lived in Voldemort's stronghold, depended upon the man for food and clothing. He had not dared to rebel outright against the Dark Lord, but he made sure that his displeasure was shown._

_Now, however, that was all to change. Voldemort was no longer content with a half-obedient, half-stubborn boy still clinging to the last vestments of hope that his former friends would come to his rescue. He wanted a willing servant ready to obey his slightest command, even if it meant the destruction of all that Harry was._

_And, knowing Voldemort, he would likely receive exactly what he wanted. _

_He rubbed his bare arms and shuffled his bare feet in the thin covering of snow, half-hoping that Voldemort would hurry up and destroy him. Draco stood behind him, almost uncomfortably close. The other boy confused him with his sly grins and sidelong glances. At first, Harry could have sworn that the blonde was working solely on his master's orders, but now he was left puzzled._

_Draco seemed to genuinely want to... Harry blushed at what Draco had done to him, what he had responded to. He clenched his eyes tightly shut. His pulse was erratic and sharp, the blood beating in his ears and refusing to allow him to relax. _

_He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself some other way. His breaths were shaky and shallow, barely granting his lungs enough oxygen. _

_"Tonight is the night!" Voldemort shouted above the light gusts of wind, seeming to look everywhere at once. Harry opened his eyes and focused on his... master. _

_"Tonight, the idol of the Wizarding world will fall! All hope shall be lost and despair shall once again fill this land!" His eyes glowed with an ethereal, uncouth light. "As the moon rises, almost full, so shall the power of the Dark!"_

_Deep-throated cheers arose from the scores of Death Eaters. Harry winced at the sound, a powerful reminder of where he was and what he was about to do. "Harry Potter, come forth!" Slowly, dragging his feet, he stumbled towards the Dark Lord, trying in vain to maintain his calm._

_"Harry Potter," he intoned solemnly, thin lips peeled back in a ruthless, insidious smirk, "tonight you shall truly become one with the Darkness inside of you!"_

_"I am pure," Harry muttered feebly, snatching at memories of being a Gryffindor, of being bold and courageous and chivalrous, but oh so ignorant and idiotic. "There is no darkness inside of me."_

_"Light casts shadows," the Dark Lord proclaimed cryptically, studying Harry's face intently._

_"I won't do this!" he cried out, sounding like a petulant child. In the back of his mind, he was reminded of Dudley throwing one of his tantrums. Dudley, though, had never been in a fight for his very soul. "I agreed to not fight you! Why can't that be enough?"_

_"Because we are at the crossroads! This is no pitiful mortal battle! The outcome of this war will decide far more than just which House wins the championship. No one can sit on the sidelines, especially you. Dumbledore merely turned you into a tool, to be tossed aside when you began to rust. You have no other option."_

_"I don't even know any Dark magic!" he argued, one final, desperate plea. "And you can' t force me to do it!"_

_"I won't have to force you," Voldemort hissed mysteriously, "for you will do this all of your own free will."_

_"I won't go about torturing Muggles and Muggle-borns. It's inhumane." _

_"In time, you will. But for tonight, there is another task you will complete."_

_Voldemort motioned forth with one skeletal hand, and a bound figure was brought forward. Surprisingly, the woman did not struggle against her bonds, instead gazing at Harry with almost disconcerting calm and acceptance._

_"Lestrange!" he spat, pinning the cold woman with a glare that rivaled Voldemort's. _

_"She killed your godfather, didn't she, Harry? Pushed him back into that veil. She cost you the one person who ever truly cared about you..." He trailed off, leaving the rest for Harry to conclude._

_"She did so on your orders! Sirius would never have died if it weren't for you!" His eyes blazed brightly with fury before dimming at the depressing memories that replayed before him._

_"I gave no orders regarding Sirius Black. What she did she did on her own initiative. But you now have a chance to correct that."_

_"Nothing could bring Sirius back from the dead!" he screamed, knowing that if he were to look in the Mirror of Erised, Sirius' prematurely aged face would be the only thing he would see. _

_"But you can seek vengeance." Voldemort's voice was a mere whispering insinuation. "You could make her pay..."_

_"Avenge his death..." Harry murmured, eyes fixed on Bellatrix in an almost trance-like state. _

_"Make her feel the pain that he felt, that you felt. Make her _suffer.

_"Yes, yes..." _

_Voldemort nodded to Draco who drew a wand out of a deep pocket of his robe and handed it silently to the shorter boy. Harry accepted it slowly, never removing his eyes from the bound woman before him._

_"She deserves to be tortured, to feel the pain of her very flesh being ripped apart. To have her intestines pulled from her body and to watch as her beating heart slowly dies," Voldemort reminded him, eyes wide with anticipation._

_"She deserves much worse than that!" Harry growled, raising the bough of Holly high above his head. "CRUCIO!"_

_The shrieks of the woman filled the air. She ripped at her clothes in the pain, the slightest whisper of fabric against her rough skin tripling the sheer agony of the curse. After a few minutes she lay panting in the snow, completely nude. Her body glistened with sweat and blood trickled out of her nose and ears. _

_"You whore!" he shrieked, still not letting up on the curse. "You goddamn dirty slut!" Her screams rose in pitch and volume, shattering the still, dark beauty of the night and warping the loveliness of the stars shining down on the white snow. _

_Even though Harry took no notice, the Death Eaters regarded him silently from behind their blank masks, silently cheering to see the mere woman who had reached a position that none of them could nope to attain. The smarter ones were reminded that if even the Lord's favourite could be permitted to be tortured by one not her master, they themselves were much more vulnerable. _

_Through it all Voldemort steepled his fingers and studied his newest servant with a lazy smirk across his face. He listened to the cries of the woman with half-lidded eyes, reveling in his sadistic pleasure._

_"Feel the power, Harry," he whispered urgently, egging the teenager on. "It's a rush, isn't it, this strange and wonderful feeling? You hold life in your hands; it is yours to protect or utterly destroy. Tonight, you are a god, choosing the fates of mortals. They are beneath you, mere puppets whose sole purpose is your entertainment." _

_Harry turned towards the Dark wizard, mouth wide in a truly evil, frightening grin. His eyes were wide and his cheeks flushed deeply from the heady feeling flowing through him. He appeared as a twisted phantasm of his former self, a dark shade snatching away the body of the pure Gryffindor and leaving in his place a deadly demon._

_His hold on the Cruciatus Curse never wavered._

_"Can you feel the pain?" Harry demanded of his victim. "This is what you did to Sirius! He was your own relative, and you bloody killed him! You deserve so much worse than this. Your entire line should be cursed. For eternity you shall rot in Hell. When the flesh is stripped slowly from your bones from the drops of acids that pour down upon you and your soul is tattered and bruised, when your torturous existence is worse than Lucifer himself could possibly devise, only then could you possibly begin to atone for even a fraction of your sin."_

_"But it will never be enough. You killed my godfather! You took away the only one who ever loved me! I hate you!" Voldemort watched with narrowed eyes as Lestrange spasmed into the air, her spinal cord cracking from the pressure it was under. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell limply to the snow covered ground._

_The snow around her was soon immersed in crimson, a dark patch of her sins against the pure white of the snow. If Harry had been thinking straight, he probably would have found it highly symbolic._

_"I hate you!" he roared, leaping for the dead woman. "Why'd you have to die! You should suffer more! You should spend eternity never dying, constantly being tortured for your transgressions!"_

_He fell upon her, beating her inert chest with his frail fists. Bruises appeared on her naked body, and blood spurted out of her mouth, already half divided into plasma and water. _

_Harry let out a short, shuttering breath, tears falling freely down onto the motionless corpse. He sat, wailing and sobbing, crystal tears streaking down his cheeks and mixing with the blood. The Dark Mark blazed black on his left forearm. _

_A few of the Death Eaters snickered in disgust at the weakness the boy was showing. Voldemort merely glared at them and they cowered in fear. "You will respect your new master!" he growled._

_"I am not going to serve some idiotic boy!" Lucius declared, voice haughty and dripping with the type of disdain only managed by those with an impeccable pedigree._

_"Do you question my orders?" Voldemort demanded._

_"N... no my lord!" Lucius denied, instantly transforming from a snobby aristocrat to a mewling servant._

_"It is good for you that you do not, Lucius," the Dark Lord cautioned softly, "for I would hate to think that one of my most loyal had betrayed me."_

_"Most certainly not! I serve you, my lord. I will do anything you say!"_

_"And I thought you were above such base behavior. You disappoint me Lucius." _

_"My lord, I only want to serve y-" His pleas were cut off with rough, low screams that were torn from his throat as the Cruciatus curse hit him. Voldemort maintained the curse just long enough for the man to be gasping for air and clawing at his robes, begging for mercy._

_"Harry Potter is one of us now." He paused for a moment to let the threat sink in properly. "Any insults against him will be considered an insult against me." The assembled Death Eaters did not respond, the only sounds heard were the moaning of Harry and the muffled groans of Lucius as he tried to regain some control._

_Their mood was tetchy and Voldemort noticed this with narrowed eyes, remarking sharply," Is that clear?"_

_The night was filled with muttered "yes masters" and Voldemort nodded, satisfied. _

_Draco reached out a faltering hand towards Harry, amazed at the depths of emotions displayed in those brilliant emerald eyes of his. There was such pain and the ultimate suffering._

_With halting steps he walked woodenly forward until he was behind the smaller boy. Hesitantly, he laid a comforting hand on his shoulders, relaxing his stiff shoulders when Harry did not flinch away._

_"It's alright, Harry," he comforted almost silently. "His death has been avenged."_

_Harry turned to look up at him with red eyes, tear tracks evident against his pale face. "It won't be avenged, not until Dumbledore lies dead at my feet." Harry stood, shaking slightly from his exertion._

_Voldemort heard the boy's words and laughed. The high pitched grating sound reached the ears of the gods and they themselves shuddered in fear, knowing that their hopes had just been extinguished and the light that was the Boy-Who-Lived was no more._

_

* * *

_

The small group rushed into a clearing in the midst of the Forbidden Forest, noting that the three pairs of fleeing footsteps appeared to vanish mid-step. Ron cursed loudly and no one could find the heart to berate him for his crass vulgarity.

Dumbledore leaned against a gray, mossy tree trunk slowly, forehead creased and blue eyes heavy with disappointment. He clutched his wand tightly in one hand, knuckles white on the polished, worn wood grip. He panted slightly from the effort of running, all too aware that he was far too old for this business.

McGonagall's lips were pressed in their customary thin line and her eyes were narrowed and half-lidded. She too drew several shaky breaths and steadied herself by placing one trembling hand against the rough bark of a giant pine, barely even feeling the sharp prickles against her fingertips. Her hat was askew, hanging off of her tight gray bun and she looked distinctly displeased.

Snape was the only one who was at all collected, and even he was grimacing slightly. He slid each arm up the copious sleeve of the opposite limb and sneered lightly at the spot where three sets of footprints disappeared.

Ron's face was flushed to match his hair. He continually clenched and unclenched his fists, muttering explicatives under his breath, cursing Dark wizards in general and Harry in particular. The head boy's eyes were dark with fury and lingering hatred as he too studied the footprints minutely.

Hermione stared at nothing in particular, mouth moving silently and eyes unfocused. Leaves and twigs were tangled in her curly hair but she took no notice of them or the slight cut that dripped blood on her right cheek.

"They're gone!" she wailed, whirling around and beating open hands against a tree trunk.

"Too bad they didn't splinch themselves," Ron muttered, a faint note of longing in his voice.

"We must prepare the students and the castle at once," Dumbledore informed them gravely. "Voldemort's attack will come swiftly and without warning."

"What about the first years?" McGonagall asked in a worried tone. "Surely they will not be expected to fight?"

"No, but the may have to."

"Headmaster," Snape commented darkly, "those students can barely manage a Wingardium Leviosa properly and you are about to pit them against Death Eaters? A simple hovering charm has no practical battle applications."

"I used it against the troll!" Ron contradicted fervently.

"That, Mr. Weasley," Snape sneered, "was more a matter of luck than anything else. And the majority of the Death Eaters are neither as inane nor as lethargic as a Mountain Troll."

"Plans have already been made for events just like this. The younger years will be gathered together in as safe a location as we can offer them. They will not fight unless, of course, the fight is brought to them."

"We're just going to bunch them all together? Professor Dumbledore, that's like inviting the wolves to the slaughter of the lambs!" Hermione's voice had a half-pleading, half-unbelieving note to it that caused Dumbledore to sigh sadly, though a hard glint was in his eye.

"Sometimes it is necessary to sacrifice a few for the sake of many."

"You're using them as bait?" Ron screeched, cerulean eyes widening in shock. "You're using them to distract the Death Eaters so that the Order can sneak behind them and pick them off?"

"They are not bait, Mr. Weasley. The Death Eaters will come to the school whatever we do with the younger years. And we are gathering them together in one secure location for their own protection. The Death Eaters will not know where it is. If by chance they happen to stumble upon it, at that point the castle may be lost to us anyway."

"What about the elder students?" McGonagall queried. "They have been without a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for two years. How can we expect them to be able to fight alongside the professors?"

"They're going to have to," Dumbledore said firmly, meeting McGonagall's gaze squarely. "This is a war. We have no more time for innocence or ignorance. Now is a time for hard words and harder measures. The Death Eaters will show us no leniency, so we must expect none. That would be naive and foolhardy."

"Why now? Why us? Why Harry? Why did any of this happen? We're just a bunch of kids and here we are about t face down the largest evil ever gathered."

"Choices were made, Ms. Granger, some of them honourable and others of them deplorable. It is those choices that took us to where we are today. Harry has chosen his path."

"Then why did you keep him here? Why didn't you just kill him? Voldemort would have been weakened without the aid of his top lieutenant."

"Mr. Weasley, while you may be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, do not presume to know everything."

Ron's eyes flashed and he trembled with rage. "Why the bloody hell should you keep him alive? After all he's done he deserves to die."

"Because we need him, foolish boy!" Snape spat sinisterly.

"Severus, do not say anymore!" Dumbledore warned, a hard glint in his blue eyes. "Suffice it to say, Mr. Weasley, that Mr. Potter still has a role to play, one that it would be rather impossible for him to fulfill were he six feet below."

"This isn't some bloody play!"

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, if you can not keep yourselves silent about what has transpired here tonight than it may be necessary to Oblivaite you." Snape came as close as he ever could to a grin at the pleasure that action would bring him.

"You can't do that! That's illegal!" Ron protested.

"Professor Snape has overstepped his bounds," Dumbledore responded with a pointed glare at his potions master. "But his point is certainly valid. The two of you can not be allowed to spread what you have seen tonight and in the past few days. The students must be told of the upcoming attack so that they do not panic, but it would not do for you to spread rumors. Even without your assistance, I'm sure half of the castle is already saying that there was a hoard of death Eaters here trying to steal away our House Elves or some other such nonsense."

"Memory charms, Mr. Weasley, do not always cover up problems, as you yourself should know very well from your second year," McGonagall scolded.

"You should have just Obliviated Potter," Ron remarked, disgust lingering in his tone so that he nearly spat out the words. "If you could not kill him for Merlin knows what reason you could at least have made him less of a bastard."

"We will go back to the school," Professor Dumbledore instructed, ignoring Ron's comment. "Nothing should be said of what transpired here tonight. In the morning the students shall be told of the situation and preparations will be made"

The small group headed back to the castle with heavy hearts. Ron and Hermione hung back slightly, Hermione clinging to her boyfriend's arms as silent tears streaked down her face.

"How did it come to this? Even in fifth year there was always hope, always Harry there to save the day. Now we have nothing: no hope, no saviour, no plans, no dumb luck."

"It's all because of Potter," Ron said tersely, eyes straight ahead and unblinking.

"But this isn't how it works in the stories! There should always be some hope, however slight. Harry should be redeemed and brought back to us. Voldemort should fall and the people who otherwise should have been slaughtered should spend their days to the end in peace and celebration."

Ron whirled around, pinning Hermione to a tree behind him with his arms on either side of her head. "You don't understand; you're a Muggleborn."

"I understand perfectly well, Ronald Weasley, and my birth has nothing-"

"It has everything to do with this! You didn't grow up in the Wizarding world. You didn't have to experience the fear. For years after the initial fervor of wild partying had died down people remained wary. I can't remember meeting anyone who was not a family member until I was nearly five years old. You never saw a full grown wizard or witch without their wand, and most of those still in Hogwarts had them too."

"I know this, Ron, I read about it in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_."

"But you didn't live it! You couldn't possibly understand the mind set of the people at the time, the panic every time any slight reference was made to You-Know-Who. For a long time he was not even referred to as You-Know-Who, but only by him. Did you ever wander why there are so few younger years compared to those in our year? It took six years, Hermione, six years! for people to begin to believe that their children wouldn't grow up to be tortured or killed or made into slaves."

Ron paused for a moment, breathing heavily. "Even if we do manage to win, that same thing will happen again. If by some miracle You-Know-Who is killed then things won't just immediately be fine and normal."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Ron!" Hermione argued, though her voice was weak and her eyes glazed over slightly in fear.

"But it will, Hermione! The Wizarding community grew lax after their first war, allowed themselves to grow soft. They won't let it happen again. We made the same mistake the Muggles did after W.W.I, allowing ourselves to grown complacent and content."

"We can win this, Ron! You must believe that, otherwise we've already lost."

"Then we have lost," he growled, lowering his arms and stalking out of the Forest.

Hermione sank slowly to the mossy ground, not even feeling the cold snow. "Why, Harry, why?"

The trees offered up no answer, staying silent and regal as they always were.

"This isn't supposed to happen!" she screamed to no one in particular. "We shouldn't have to live through this! It's not right, not right!"

_But you do_, the wind whispered as it tossed stray bits of her hair into her tear-soaked face. _You have to live in these times._

"If they win, it means more than just the lives of the soldiers. All the Muggles and Muggleborns will be killed. I'll be killed. Blood shouldn't mean this much, shouldn't be so important."

_But that is the way it is,_ the breezes told her silently, _and you can not change the world._

"I can try!" she protested, though her argument was weak and not heartfelt.

_All you can decide is how you will live in these dark times. You can not make the decisions for others; the only fate you control is your own._

"But my decisions can affect others," Hermione stated, drawing herself unsteadily to her feet. "But then, who am I to hold the fate of the world in my hands?"

_You are no one, which is why you do not carry the future. That position rests with others._

"Others like who? Like Harry?" Her voice was caustic and rough, disbelieving and scornful.

_He is one, yes. _

"Well you did a great job of picking him," she muttered sarcastically.

_He had no choice in the matter, just as you have no real impact on what is to come._

"Are you trying to tell me that my life is worthless? If I hadn't been here, Harry would never have been able to do half the things he did!"

_A way would have been provided, as it is for all those who are central to the future. You were merely an accessory who has outlived your usefulness._

"I'm not going to just sit by and let things happen as they will! That's inane and pointless! No stupid voices in my head are going to tell me that I have no control over my own future. I'll make my own choices and decisions, thank you very much."

The winds just smiled, though all Hermione felt was a brief flash of mirth.

"Nothing to say, have you? I should never have listened to you in the first place. My life is mine and I will make of it what I will!"

She stormed off to the castle with renewed vehemence, cursing fate and destiny.

The winds smiled, glad that they had accomplished their task, before moving on to other goals.


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Harry rose slowly to his feet, eyes still fixated on the corpse in front of him. His eyebrows were lowered so that his eyes appeared as mere slits of malicious evil, lips narrowed and cruel. His breath came in ragged gasps and his hands were tightly balled at his sides._

_"Harry Potter, step forth," Voldemort called out formally. After a lost lingering glance at the cooled body in front of him he moved away to stand before the Dark Lord, eyes blazing with a myriad of emotions._

_"You have proven yourself worthy to join my ranks. Are you willing to give up all that you previously held dear and serve only me?" Voldemort's gaze was piercing and calculating, searching for any hint of a lie or even a sign of hiding the truth._

_"I am." Surprisingly, Harry's voice was calm, blank and devoid of any emotion._

_Voldemort let the slight shock register on his face by a slow-spreading serpentine smile. "Are you willing to torture and kill?"_

_"As it pleases you." _

_"Will you serve me in battle and remain faithful even if captured?"_

_"I will not betray you if you do not betray me."_

_Draco, looking on, frowned nervously. No one was allowed to talk to the Dark Lord in that casual and demanding manner. The Death Eaters, his still-trembling father among them, exchanged glances, waiting for their master to raise his wand and torture the poor fool._

_The word "Crucio" never came._

_Instead Voldemort cackled, the sound high and disconcerting. No mortal should be able to laugh so mockingly with such genuine mirth. "A deal I will be most pleased to make. In return for your servitude you shall have all that you desire. You shall sit at my right hand and rule with me forever."_

_Harry grinned, a slow, wickedly gleeful smile that stole away whatever innocence was left in his face, maturing him instantly. "The pleasure is all mine," he answered smoothly, sketching a rough bow._

_"Draco Malfoy, step forth." Draco immediately moved away from the form that had once housed the soul of Bellatrix Lestrange, falling immediately to his knees and debasing himself in front of his soon-to-be-master._

_"Are you ready to forsake all elements of your past life if necessary and to turn your back on those you once considered your friends in order to serve me? Are you willing to befriend an enemy?"_

_Draco's throat was dry and he had to wet his lips before responding reverently, "Yes, my lord."_

_"Are you willing to torture, kill, and use the Unforgivables and other Dark magic?"_

_"Yes, my lord," Draco repeated, with slightly more confidence._

_"Can you serve me and no other, even if it means your death?"_

_"Yes, my lord."_

_"I welcome you to the Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy." The blonde wizard let out a breath that he had not realized he had been keeping pent up. "Rise to receive my mark." _

_Draco followed the instructions immediately, baring his left forearm and offering it to Voldemort. "Morsmordre!" Voldemort muttered. A searing pain enveloped his entire body, focused at the point where the snake entwined about the skull was beginning to show darkly against his moon-pale skin._

_He did not cry out in pain; Malfoy's were above such plebian displays of emotion. He took the pain calmly but was visibly relieved when the spell was lifted and his arm dropped of its own violation. _

_"Tonight we have two new brethren," Voldemort announced loudly to his assembled minions, voice carrying sharply through the crisp winter air. "They shall rise to glory within my ranks. To mark their new status, they shall be given a second Mark."_

_Mutters broke out among the Death Eaters, surprised words mixed with angry phrases. Voldemort allowed the murmurs to continue for a moment before shouting out "silence" and instantly pacifying his soldiers._

_Voldemort motioned for Harry and Draco to kneel before him. He raised his Yew wand slowly, holding it with both hands above his head. With a sudden jab he crashed the thin bough through the air, screaming, "Jorgumth!" Bright silver lines appeared on each of the boys' cheeks, gradually spreading to form a picture._

_A shiny serpent took shape, eyes closed and fangs showing in a sharp, threatening hiss. As the complicated patterns on their scales completed themselves, the snakes lazily opened their eyes, blinking at their new surroundings. _

_As one they uncoiled and begun to writhe across their master's faces. Harry carefully brought his hand up to his face, touching the smooth skin. He could barely feel the light brush of scales through his callused fingertips and he looked up at Voldemort, utterly amazed._

_"Twice I have marked you as mine," Voldemort hissed softly, "and mine you shall remain." _

_Smoothly the Dark Lord gestured for his two newest followers to rise and turn to face their fellow Death Eaters. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy shall serve as my second-in-commands. To cross them is to cross me and any offense will be dealt with just as harshly." _

_The Death Eaters immediately bowed low, some more sincerely than others. The older Malfoy in particular had a stiff spine and his head was slightly raised in defiance. Voldemort noted those who bowed reluctantly and reminded himself to watch those carefully; any who went against his commands must be punished. His word was more than law: it was as if his orders came from the gods themselves. _

_Voldemort smirked; all was as it should be._

_

* * *

_

Draco, Harry, and Blaise appeared in one of the many small rooms used for the purpose of Apparation, panting slightly from the effort of their wild flight.

"We're finally out," Draco breathed in relief, pulling Harry into a close hug.

"No more Dumbledore!" Harry responded joyfully, wrapping his arms around Draco compliantly. "No more Weasley, no more Granger, no more-"

"No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks!" Blaise chanted, clapping her hands together joyfully. Draco, used to the girl's antics, just rolled his eyes while Harry looked on confused.

"What?" he questioned.

"Honestly, Potter, it's an old Muggle rhyme. You were raised by Muggles, weren't you?"

"Well, yes, but I don't know where you heard it or how it applies-"

"Honestly, Harry, sometimes I wonder if you have anything between your ears," Draco quipped lightly. "Blaise may be a pureblood but she's not ignorant on Muggle customs."

"That still doesn't explain why it makes sense in this situation!" Harry protested, pushing Draco away from him playfully.

"I can't go back to Hogwarts after having helped you escape, now can I? For all intents and purposes, I've graduated. I don't have to take my N.E.W.T.s now or put up with all those scathing looks from McGonagall. That woman has something against every single Slytherin."

Harry blinked for a moment before laughing. "For good reason," he commented, earning two glares eerily reminiscent of Snape's from the two Slytherins.

"We should go check in with Master," Draco reminded them, stifling their laughter slightly. "He'll want to see how we've fared."

"Of course," Harry replied, moving towards the door.

The trio moved quickly through the mostly empty corridors of the giant stronghold, Blaise following behind slightly and taking in the new sights with wide eyes. Harry and Draco strolled confidently, refusing to look as if they had spent the past several weeks in one room.

Finally they reached the throne room, bowing before the Dark Lord in his throne of human remains. Voldemort had a faint smirk upon his face but it was not one of joy. Instead, it was a cruel and conniving grin of triumph and the realization that the doom of Dumbledore was approaching.

"My lord," the three teenagers said respectfully, bowing deeply and not looking up, though Blaise was certainly tempted to do so. She had never met the Dark Lord before and the mere thought of being in his presence at last sent a thrill of terrified pleasure through her before she calmed her body and took control of herself as befitting a Slytherin.

"Rise, my snakes," Voldemort told the two males. Blaise looked up through her bangs, but stayed where she was. Draco and Harry, however, stood and bowed again, facing their master with expressions of homecoming and relief.

Voldemort gesticulated for Harry to tell him their story, which he immediately did, skipping over nothing and paying scrupulous attention to details. Voldemort seemed pleased with his account, though the only sign was his relaxed posture and the slight curve of his lips.

"This report does nothing to improve my opinion of Dumbledore, that old Muggle-loving fool. No one has ever managed to convert one of my loyal Death Eaters. To be sure he may have thought that Snape joining his beloved Order was a great victory, but Snape's loyalties always lied more with himself than with any external master.

"You have done well; your information will be most beneficial while planning our attack. You may take your positions." Draco and Harry nodded and bowed, moving to their normal seats at the smaller throne.

Voldemort turned towards the still-kneeling Blaise with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here? Your instructions were to remain within Hogwarts and continue to spy for me," he snarled faintly, voice soft and dangerous.

"I was found, my lord. If I would have stayed I would have been killed or been kept as a prisoner," Blaise informed the Dark Lord, eyes downcast but a faint note of rebellion in her low voice.

"You do want to be my servant, don't you Blaise Zambini?" Voldemort asked, faint creases beginning to form on his pale forehead.

"Yes, my lord; it is my sole wish to be able to serve you." Her voice was confident and her eyes sparkled slightly from excitement. Her breath came quickly and a faint rose colour tinted her cheeks.

"Do you know all that calling me master would entail?" Voldemort questioned quietly.

"No, my lord," Blaise admitted reluctantly, self-assurance diminishing and a slight tinge of anxiety appearing in her otherwise calm voice.

"Harry, perhaps you can enlighten her," Voldemort suggested lightly.

"Of course, my master." Harry turned to Blaise and begun to recite, "You must be willing to lie for Him, to cheat, to steal, to fornicate, to kill, to torture, to rape, to pillage, to go against your own personal wishes, to obey His orders and only His orders, and to do everything that He asks of you. In addition, you must remain eternally loyal, through torture or threats of death. You must never give away any information that He does not wish for you to divulge. Most importantly, you must be willing to die for Him." Harry stopped, opening his eyes and grinning faintly. Blaise was about to be initiated into the circle of Death Eaters and he looked forward to knowing her better. If he had agreed to let the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin, he was sure that she would have been a good friend of his.

Blaise's countenance was carefully blank but her golden eyes betrayed the lack of understanding and slight fear that were roiling through her mind and soul.

"Is that truly what you wish your life to be, Blaise Zambini? Do you truly want to give yourself to another and obey only them for your entire life?"

"Yes, my lord. I want nothing more." However, despite the confidence portrayed by her words, her tone expressed a slight hesitation.

"Tell me, Blaise Zambini, do you have a boyfriend?" Voldemort's eyebrows quirked in an almost comical manner.

"Yes, my lord, I do."

"And what House is he in?"

"Ravenclaw, my lord."

"I see. You understand that by agreeing to serve me you would forsake any claim to choose your future husband?"

Blaise's gasp caught at her throat but she replied in a strangled voice, "Yes, my lord."

"Your opinions and feelings would be nothing. In fact, I might even have you kill this Ravenclaw to further my cause- or solely to prove your loyalty to me."

Blaise said nothing but her face clearly showed the inner battle that she waged. On one side, she had been brought up to believe in no one but the Dark Lord and nothing but his commands. On the other, however, she was an independent girl by nature and giving up the basic rights entitled to any human born in a free country was tearing at her soul.

"Would you be willing to do that?" Voldemort pushed, pressing for an answer.

"Yes... my lord..." she murmured quietly.

"Would you be willing to die for me?"

"Yes, my lord." She kept her eyes focused on the blood-stained flagstones set in intricate, incomprehensible patterns on the floor.

"Then why did you not stay at Hogwarts and accept your fate?"

"I-" Blaise started but was caught off by a sharp wave of the Dark Lord's hand.

"You could have provided a suitable distraction to insure the escape of Harry and Draco. Instead, you selfishly chose to preserve your own life. In the process you risked my two most valuable servants and could have caused their deaths or

their re-capture. Not only that, but your rash, self-serving actions could have thrown off the entire strategy that is being planned to take control from those who no longer deserve it."

"I am sorry, my lord, I will do better next time-"

"There will be no next time in the future for you," Voldemort announced with cold finality.

With slow, careful movements he raised his wand of Yew and pointed it at the kneeling girl. "Crucio!"

At first Blaise did not shriek out in pain; like most children of Death Eaters, she had long since grown used to the Cruciatus Curse. Her parent's intent, however, had never been as malevolent as that of Voldemort and she soon lost her numb feelings and cried out as the curse ripped through her skin and tore at her nerves.

Harry shifted his gaze nervously from his master to the girl who had risked her life to rescue him from the clutches of those he had once called his friends.

Voldemort carefully lifted the curse, leaving Blaise gasping on the floor for breath that she could not seem to draw into her lungs.

"Do you truly wish to serve me, girl?" Voldemort asked with a sneer.

Blaise could not manage to gather the force necessary to answer verbally; she nodded her assent slowly and winced as if it pained her to do so in more than a physical sense. Silent tears made moist trails down her golden tan cheeks, leaving tracks of sorrow in their wake.

"Then why do you lie there sobbing? Why did you not obey my explicit instructions? Why did you take so long to free my true servants from their imprisonment?" Voldemort's voice was cold, cruel, and heartless, perfectly matching his furious expression and crimson eyes that burned with all the fires of Hell itself.

Blaise stayed silent for a moment, before an angry snarl appeared on her dark face. "You're a bastard," she spat. "My parents always told me to follow you, that you were a god. Instead, you're nothing more than a stupid, power-hungry dictator!"

Harry had to stop himself from gulping, knowing that her punishment would be swift and merciless.

"What do you think gods are, foolish child? Do you think they truly care about the lives that mortals lead?"

"More so than you!" Blaise retorted, attempting to rise into a low crouch but succeeding in only furthering the painful torment of her body.

"What do you think you're doing, Blaise?" Draco asked, both disbelieving and annoyed.

"Do not interfere, Malfoy!" the Dark Lord instructed, eyes never leaving the huddled, pitiful figure before him but his hand restraining the young Death Eater from rising. "She has made her choice and nothing can save her from her fate now."

Blaise shivered at the cold, uncaring tone in Voldemort's voice. Still, she kept her head erect and stared directly back into the crimson eyes of the man she had almost called master.

Voldemort smiled nefariously, half-closing his eyes and weaving his head slightly back and forth in a decidedly serpentine manner. "For rescuing my servants, I shall grant you a quick death. Due to their return, I am feeling uncharacteristically merciful." He paused and smirked, then raised his wand casually. "Avada Kedavra."

* * *

Harry shivered, hugging his knees tightly to his chest and clenching his eyes tightly shut, trying to block out the image of Blaise's cold, staring, accusing eyes. He huddled in one corner of the magnificent bed he shared with Draco, not even feeling the smooth comfort of silk sheets after so long spent in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

He barely registered the soft movements of Draco crawling towards him on the bed; he did not respond to the pair of lithe arms circling him and pulling him into a soothing hug.

"It's all right, Harry, really it is. We're back and Dumbledore can't do a thing against us anymore." He nuzzled the back of Harry's neck with his aristocratic nose, causing a shudder to run through the boy, but the small thrill of pleasure swiftly disappeared. It was replaced with doubt and confusion.

"Why'd he do it, Draco?" he asked in a childish voice. "Why?"

"Because he's an old Mudblood-lover, that's why. He's spent decades trying to destroy those who are powerful enough to oppose him, especially you. He's ruined your entire life, or tried to by his manipulations."

"That's not what I mean," Harry said with a dry sob. "Why did he have to kill her? What did she do wrong?"

"She went against him," Draco replied, tone making it apparent that there was nothing more obvious.

"She'd just saved us!" Harry argued fiercely, pulling away from Draco's embrace roughly. "She died because she wanted to live!"

"She died because she was insolent to our master," Draco explained calmly, moving towards Harry and cupping his face in two long-fingered hands. "She died because she was wrong and because she could not follow orders."

"She should have been punished, yes, for no one should be allowed to trespass against our master, but her death was not warranted!" His face was torn apart by grief, guilt, and an odd sense of distant responsibility.

"She said things that would be unthinkable for her to utter and still live. She insulted our master and resisted his will."

"Shouldn't she be allowed to choose the right to live? By leaving Hogwarts all she was trying to do was keep herself alive- a very Slytherin trait. Besides, how could she serve the Dark Lord's purpose by being slain or Kissed?"

"She should have died for the Dark Lord. If she could not die for him, then how could she be expected to live for him?"

"How could she live for him if she were dead?" Harry countered, though it was without real force. He covered his face with his hands and proclaimed in a muffled voice, "I'm sick of all the death, Draco. I'm sick of blood and sacrifice and betrayal."

"I am too. But if we don't go on with our lives and end this now- if we tried to away and quit and abandon everything we know- it would catch up with us eventually. If we ever want this to be over, we have to continue."

"But what if the life after that isn't worth living?" Harry asked bitterly. "What if, after all that, we find ourselves miserable and alone?"

"That will never happen," Draco assured him, raising Harry's chin with gentle hands so that their eyes met squarely. "I will never be separated from you and as long as we're together we will always have something to live for."

Harry smiled sweetly at the loving words from the other boy. "I won't leave you ever," Draco continued. "Even if you die," he made a warding motion with his hands to banish even the mere thought away, "I shall follow you into the underworld."

"What if something else happens? Something unseen, something we never could have predicted? What if," Harry too made a warding motion, "I... turn against our master and join the fools once more?"

"That could never happen," Draco denied, though a faint hint of worry was evident in his voice. Clearly he had though on this matter some himself and was not pleased with whatever he had concluded.

"But what if it does?" Harry pressed. "What will you do?"

Draco breathed deeply and shut his eyes, searching somewhere inside for the appropriate answer. "I would join you. I would stay by your side and never leave you, but I would never stop trying to get you to return our master, to make you realize the error of your ways. But I would never abandon you, ever."

Harry closed his eyes in contentment. "Somehow, I would expect nothing less."

* * *

_"Why do you always scream at night?"_

_The question was sudden and unexpected and forced him to cringe involuntarily. "What are you talking about?" he asked brusquely, refusing to turn around and confront Malfoy. Instead, he focused his attention on the potion in front of him, carefully adding in two dried Fwooper hearts and stirring the bright orange concoction with a nauseatingly neon green Fwooper feather._

_"What makes you wake up? What are your nightmares about that they leave you scared and shaken? What frightens you, Harry?"_

_"I don't see what possible motivation you have for wanting to know, Malfoy, and I don't see why you care-"_

_"Draco."_

_"What?"_

_"My name is Draco."_

_Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. I'm not dense, Malfoy. Or did you think I had you confused with your father. You two are practically carbon copies."_

_"I am not my father," Draco remarked, silver eyes flashing like steel reflecting moonlight. "Just like you are not yours. However much we may look like them, we are our own people."_

_"I am, at least. I never had the chance to know my father."_

_"And I wish that I had never met mine!"_

_Both were silent for a moment before Draco studied the potion Harry was still stirring carefully. "What is it? I don't recognize it at all."_

_"Wolfsbane, in its early stages. Now that I'm a werewolf I need to learn how to brew it for myself in case someone else is not available."_

_"Wolfsbane has Fwooper parts in it?"_

_"Yes. You know what they are, right?"_

_"Of course I do." Draco crossed his arms and frowned at the slight to his competence and intelligence, however slight and unintentional. "They are from Africa and drive those who hear them slowly insane. Sort of like Granger." Harry snorted in amusement and nodded. "That doesn't explain why they are used in Wolfsbane, though."_

_"According to the book, since werewolves could be considered insane by human standards, Fwoopers would have an opposite effect on them, making them more sane. It's the part of the potion that helps the werewolf to maintain their rational mind."_

_Draco blinked. "That makes... a surprising amount of sense. In a nonsensical sort of way."_

_"That certainly didn't." _

_The two looked at each other before bursting into laughter._


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_Harry drummed his fingers on the desk in his room, listening to the muffled but still sharp sound his short nails made as they clipped against the polished wood. His emerald eyes were blank and unfocused, but still oddly entrancing in an otherworldly way._

_Lost in his own thoughts as he was, he did not notice the slight scuffling noises and faint creak of someone opening the door. Draco leaned casually in the doorway, silver eyes observing the other boy, drinking in every detail and committing it to memory. _

_He especially lingered on the silver serpent currently coiled and hissing softly in sleep on Harry's cheek. It was a reminder of what precious few things they shared, and a decidedly more positive one than their shared history._

_It complemented his eyes as well. The shiny metallic shade and the dark emerald green were matched perfectly and Draco almost found himself wondering if the Dark Lord had chosen the symbol for precisely that purpose._

_"So Slytherin," he whispered, not realising that he had uttered the words aloud in his absorbing concentration._

_He blinked, staring into hardened emerald eyes behind a polished wand thrust at his face. Harry's eyebrows were lowered and his eyes narrowed. His mouth was in a thin line and overall he appeared suspicious but oddly composed._

_"Don't sneak up on me," he ordered, punctuating each word with a short jab of his wand on Draco's forehead. "It's not polite... or safe." With his bit spoken, he turned around and headed back towards his desk, incorrectly assuming that Draco would abandon him to his peace and solitude._

_"You still haven't answered my question," Draco commented, hand idly trailing along the rough stone blocks of the wall._

_Harry stiffened but did not face Draco. He answered slowly, all too aware of what question Draco was referring to. "And I don't intend to."_

_"Why not?" Draco wanted to know, pulling up a chair across from Harry and staring intently at him._

_"I don't trust you," came the succinct reply._

_"We're on the same side now," Draco informed him with a slight air of exasperation. "You can trust me."_

_"We may be serving the same man, but that does not make you my friend or my confidant. It just makes us less than enemies and less than friends."_

_"You mean something like wary, unwilling allies?" Harry nodded, picking up his quill and beginning to doodle random shapes on a spare piece of ripped parchment. "Why can't we be something more?"_

_"Because you're a Malfoy and I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. Because you're a Slytherin and I'm a Gryffindor. Because our parents hated each other. Because we spent our entire time at Hogwarts planning the embarrassing and destructive things that we could do to each other. Because we've landed each other in detention more times than I can count."_

_"It's not like you can count that high anyway, now can you?" Malfoy sneered, reverting shortly into his old role of snobby torturer. _

_"At least I don't use my fingers." Harry crossed his arms and if he had been younger Draco would have sworn he would have stuck out his tongue impudently._

_Draco sighed, not wanting them to be stuck like this forever, however familiar and comfortable the roles had become. "That still doesn't explain why you won't talk to me."_

_"I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?"_

_"Yes, but not about much. Why don't you trust me?"_

_Harry paused for a moment, taking the time to carefully consider the question. "Just look at your name. It means dragon, doesn't it? I know about dragons. We learned about them in Care of Magical Creatures and I had to deal with them in fourth year. They are simply dreadful creatures. They're mean and attack anything they don't agree with. They breathe flames that can sear flesh off your bones and their tails can give you a good lashing as well. They aren't very pleasant. And that's what your name means."_

_"Names don't really mean anything. Neville's name means teacher but I can't picture him teaching anything. Ron means advisor to the king, but unless that's during a chess match I can't really see it from him."_

_"You actually bothered to learn this stuff?"_

_"Of course. Know thy enemies." Draco smiled smugly and continued. "So me being named Draco has nothing to do with this."_

_"Many ancient cultures believed that naming a child after a virtue or characteristic would ensure that they grew up to be the epitome of it."_

_"And ancient cultures also believed that by ritualistically mutilating your body and accepting the pain you became closer to the gods. Just because it was a commonly accepted belief at one time doesn't mean it's true."_

_Harry did not appear to pick up on the underlying meaning to the statement so Draco clarified. "And just because I was a git to you before doesn't mean I always am."_

_"Close enough," Harry muttered bitterly. He looked at Draco's still patient face. "You're never going to leave me alone until I tell you, are you?"_

_"No," Draco replied cheerfully, glad that he was finally making some progress._

_"Then you can still be asking when we're in hell together."_

_

* * *

_

Draco and Harry clustered around a large, magnificent oak table filled with scattered scraps of parchment, dried ink wells, and broken quills. Voldemort sat at the head of the table, idly lounging with his limbs draped casually over the padded leather arms of the chair. His crimson eyes, however, were intent and focused, carefully fixated on the rough sketch of Hogwarts that his two youngest Death Eaters had drawn.

Draco pointed to each of the four common rooms, finger tapping on each large area lightly. "It really depends on when we attack," he was saying. "At night, all of the students would be divided into their own separate dormitories. That would make them easier to pick off but would ultimately require many smaller groups in the place of one larger mass."

"During the day, though," Harry countered, "the students will be in their various classes. They'll be even more scattered with much less concentration."

"But at night we have a greater element of surprise. Most everyone will be sleeping and it will be much more difficult for them to gather enough forces for a valid defense."

"Yes, but you're forgetting one small detail, if you were even privy to it in the first place."

"And what, exactly, is that?" Draco asked, crossing his arms across his chest and appearing as if it were impossible for a Malfoy of all people to not be aware of all that occurred around him.

"The wards strengthen considerably at night. After our fifth year, Dumbledore modified them so that they would draw upon the magical energy of the occupants as they slept. Not enough so that their power levels diminish, of course, but there are at least eight hundred, possibly more, people at Hogwarts at any given time. Even if the wards just drained a trickle of magical energy from each person, the sheer power would be formidable."

Draco scowled darkly, while Harry looked smug that he had managed to outwit him. "I suppose that means we have to attack during the day."

"There are other options, of course. We could attack early enough so that the students are awake but still in their common rooms or we could attack after dinner has ended for the same reason."

"There's too many unknowns. What we really need are some more insiders."

"It's too bad..." Harry was about to mourn Blaise's most untimely and inconvenient death before remembering himself. He swallowed sharply before continuing. "... that the Slytherins aren't really privy to much information now."

"Crabbe and Goyle might be able to dig up something."

"Those two?" Harry scoffed. "They're so thick that a Bludger couldn't crack their skulls. Not that it would make any difference to their mental capacities, of course."

Draco just grinned in his superior fashion. "Even the dimmest of people have their uses," he snickered, obviously remember a time when the two idiots had been especially beneficial to him.

"Well, that's why I keep you around, now isn't it?" Harry responded snarkily.

Before Draco could attempt mock anger and protest, however, they were interrupted by a sneer from Voldemort. "We have little time to plan this attack if it is to be pulled off with any success. I suggest you stop frolicking and turn to the matter at hand..." His voice trailed off in a threat about as obvious as a Chimera in the midst of a Muggle village.

"Yes, master," they replied solemnly, focusing on the maps of Hogwarts once more.

Voldemort nodded his acceptance of their apologies and continued, "We will strike at in the evening of December 31. The students and teachers will be disoriented, tired, and more focused on celebrating the holiday than on being alert for an attack."

"Most of the students will have gone home for the holidays, as well as some of the teachers. At least I hope."

"It's more likely that there will be more people at Hogwarts. After all, Hogwarts is one of the few safe locations left in all of Britain."

"We could turn that to our advantage, somehow, I'm certain," Harry commented thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers as an idea struck him like the sight of the golden Snitch. "There will undoubtedly be young children there. After all, the families of students must not leave their younger siblings to be picked up and killed. Most of the attention will be on ushering them to safety. What few forces remain should be relatively easy to take care of. "

"Their compassion will be their weakness," Draco agreed sagely.

"Okay, now that we now when we will attack we have to figure out how. The wards surrounding the school will not be easy to bypass."

"I think the best approach would be to have a small group of powerful forces- but not necessarily the best fighters- attempt to disable the wards at least temporarily. That way the main part of the troops would still be fresh and prepared for battle."

Harry nodded in agreement. "What, exactly, are the wards around Hogwarts though? I only learned some of it in the beginning of sixth year and he must have at least doubled them by now."

Voldemort pulled a sheet of parchment from underneath a large stack, the writing on it spidery and black. "Here is a list of the wards on Hogwarts. It will, of course, update itself automatically when any are removed or added."

Harry accepted the proffered parchment, studying it intensely. "Some of these we won't have to worry about. I don't think it will matter much if we stop the pumpkins from growing to an abnormally large size. What a waste of magic."

Draco moved to stand behind his shoulder, also reading. "There's the standard ones, like Apparation barriers and ones that detect the Dark Arts, but there's really not that much that would keep us out. Obviously if we were Muggles we'd have a hefty amount of trouble, but that's thankfully not the case."

Harry frowned in concentration. "Why isn't there anything really powerful? I mean, sure, there's lots of wards, but nothing that won't be easy enough to take down, now that we know what they are."

"As you well know, the stronger spells are all Dark. Dumbledore is simply too noble to use them. And, as knowledgeable as the old fool can sometimes appear, he certainly does not know everything, especially about the spells which he condemns. He never expected anyone to learn what wards he had operating in the first place, and half the problem would be figuring them out. Now that we know, we will have only small obstacles."

Voldemort smiled sinisterly, his thin lips drawn taunt over his slightly pointed teeth. He rather looked like the skull in his Mark, Harry mused reflectively for a moment, only much more frightening because he was real rather than just a flat symbol floating in the air above a burning village.

Voldemort was the true power behind that symbol, and as scared as most wizards seemed at the mere mention of the Dark Mark, their terror of Voldemort was increased at least ten fold.

Harry held out his hands before him, splaying the fingers wide watching them with wide eyes as if contemplating the power waiting to be tapped beneath the thin layer of skin. He rotated them slowly back and forth, mouth slightly ajar and face filled half with wonder and half with sweet anticipation.

"He shall pay for everything he has done. No longer will he be safe behind his castle walls. He won't have anyone to manipulate anymore. He won't trick first years into facing their foes, won't deliberately lie and omit vital information. Albus Dumbledore will fall."

He crushed his hands into two fists, eyes lighting with an insane vehemence. "And it will be sweet."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sneered at the regal family portrait placed directly opposite him. All three Malfoys were serene and collected, expressions of calm superiority settled easily over their features. The two males were dressed in flowing silver robes spun from fairy hair trimmed in a fine sapphire blue. Narcissa was clad in similar fashion, her robes sapphire with sparkling gray trim.

Lucius studied his son carefully, eyeing the twelve year old boy with extreme displeasure. Draco was a disappointment, something that caused the Malfoy patriarch a great amount of irritation.

Draco had been raised to serve his father and his father's master in all things, regardless of his personal wishes. While the boy obeyed the Dark Lord dutifully enough, he was no where near as responsive to his sire.

His offspring was intended to be inducted into the Death Eaters and gradually work his way up through the ranks. He would earn power and glory, increasing the status of the Malfoy family. When he was old enough he would marry a suitable Pureblood girl and produce an heir to continue the family line. In time, he would take his father's place at the Dark Lord's hand.

Draco had flouted all of his beautifully constructed plans. He had risen through the ranks with lightning speed, surpassing Lucius mere moments after his initiation. And instead of wedding a beautiful but dimwitted Slytherin Pureblood, such as the Parkinson girl, he had fallen in love with Potter. No heir would ever come of that cursed union.

More importantly, he had usurped what Lucius saw as his rightful place. In the past year he had become little more than a common lackey, providing the brute force required by the Dark Lord. He was never called in to help with complicated planning sessions or to report nearly as often as before.

His son provided those services for the Dark Lord now, along with that damnable Potter boy.

Lucius raised a clear glass tumbler with a fine golden liquid to his lips, taking a deep sip and swallowing immediately. The alcohol burned pleasantly down his throat and settled in his stomach, warming him and slightly clouding his mind.

He had caught wind of the latest plans, the imminent attack on Hogwarts. Although he showed no outward sign, he inwardly seethed with rage at the thought that his master had not deemed him important enough to inform of this crucial bit of information. More than likely he would know no more until he was summoned with the Dark Lord's more proletarian supporters and told what they would be doing.

He was a Malfoy! He was not a wand, to be pointed and used to wipe out an enemy, only to be stuck in a deep pocket until it was called for again!

Incited by his anger, his treacherous thoughts grew until a plan began to form in the dark corners of his mind, far from the prying reach of the Dark Lords skill with Legilemency.

* * *

"I don't like it."

Draco rolled over to face Harry, confusion shining in his eyes. "Don't like what?" he asked.

"I don't like this parchment with the wards. How can we be certain that it's accurate? I mean, surely there must be more wards on the school."

"If the Dark Lord says it's accurate, then it's accurate. There's no other way about it. He's never wrong. And his explanation makes sense; Dumbledore has always been overconfident and noble."

"I guess..." Harry trailed off, a frown twisting his lips downward.

"Hey, nothing bad's gonna happen. We'll take over Hogwarts and kill the blasted old man and be all the better for it."

"I still don't like it," Harry reiterated. "We have no idea where this parchment came from or the spells used on it. It could easily be a hoax."

"It's not," Draco soothed, rubbing soft circles on Harry's cheek with one hand. "We have to trust."

"I trusted before and look where it lead me. If you hadn't come along, I would have ended up in Azkaban as a soulless... thing."

"But that was when you were trusting Dumbledore, something that you should never have done. This is not Dumbledore, it's Voldemort. You have to trust him."

"I trust him; I don't trust the parchment," Harry clarified, still frowning. "It could be something that Dumbledore planted after all."

"Like Dumbledore's clever enough," Draco snorted in derision.

"You didn't know him. He had Snape spying on Voldemort for years before anyone knew. Somehow, he always managed to foil Voldemort's plans. He's a manipulative old fool. I wouldn't put anything past him."

Draco shrugged and sighed deeply. "It doesn't matter. Soon enough he'll be dead and we won't have to worry about him anymore."

"I hope so, I truly do."

* * *

_"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked irritably, eagle quill scratching deeply into the parchment, leaving rough gouges in the wood beneath it. _

_"You had another nightmare last night." It was a statement, but one that demanded an answer in the same way that a question would._

_"What of it?" Harry demanded evasively, eyes narrowing as the quill snapped between his fingers._

_"I want to know about it."_

_Harry snorted. "So I should tell you about it merely to satisfy your curiosity? I highly doubt that you actually want anything more than to use the information against me. Why should I give you the ammunition?"_

_Draco blinked, considering his response carefully. "I want to know because... because I ... care." The last word came out in a breathless whisper, so quiet that Harry barely caught it._

_"Do you?" Harry questioned bitterly, finally turning around to face the blonde. "Do you really? Just like you cared enough about me to ruin my life at Hogwarts? Just like you hexed me at every available opportunity?"_

_"I offered you the hand of friendship and you turned it down," Draco reminded him angrily. _

_"Oh, what a great way to start a relationship," Harry retorted sarcastically. "Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy and I'm better than you. I think your friend is lower than the dirt my House Elves scrub from the toilets and I only want to use you for your fame." He did a fair imitation of an eleven year old Draco's voice, which caused Draco's eyes to widen in surprise._

_"And what was I supposed to do? I had a reputation as a Malfoy to uphold and if I let anything slip than I would be in serious trouble."_

_"I thought you said that you weren't your father."_

_"I'm not!" _

_Harry just glared pointedly, one eyebrow raised as if suggesting that Draco lying and not even doing a good job of it._

_"Would you stop being snarky for just one second?" Draco huffed. "I'm not- and I never was- some stupid Gryffindor who rushed into things without thinking about the consequences. If I had acted at all differently from what I had on the train word would have gotten back to my father; it always does. I was trying to make the best out of a bad situation. I was only eleven years old, for Merlin's sake!"_

_"So was Ron, and he managed to be pleasant enough!" _

_"If you'll think for a moment, the weasel's parents had no reason to care about their reputation. They have no money and their only status is as an object of pity and scorn. He could afford to be himself! And look how that friendship turned out!"_

_Harry quieted instantly and Draco regretted dredging up the memories of Harry's betrayal. His face was set and stony and his eyes glistened dangerously._

_"Look, for what it's worth, I'm sorry, okay?"_

_"I thought you had a reputation to uphold," Harry commented, though the words had no force behind them. "Malfoys never apologize."_

_"No," Draco answered with a slight smile. "They don't."_

_"And I suppose you're about to inform me that you're not a Malfoy after all. In fact, you're my long lost twin brother and your behaviour towards me in the past years will suddenly change because now that you know you're a Potter you've suddenly become more in touch with your gentler emotions."_

_"Have you been sniffing potions?" Harry rolled his eyes but did not bother with a verbal response. "To my knowledge I'm not in any way related to you."_

_"Fine, but that doesn't explain why you, a Malfoy, are apologizing."_

_"I'm not a Malfoy right now. I'm Draco, just Draco. I'm being myself. Well, trying to be anyway. And as Draco, I don't really have a problem apologising, if I truly mean it."_

_"And I suppose you're insinuation that you're being sincere with me?"_

_"Of course."_

_Harry took a moment to really study Draco. His face held an open and honest expression that practically begged for trust. Nothing in his posture or countenance said anything of lies or manipulations; it was entirely possible that he was being entirely honest._

_"Look, we could just start over. Forget about what happened in the past."_

_"I can't forget, and neither can you. What happened happened and if we pretended it didn't than any interactions we had would be false and affected."_

_"What if I Obliviated you? Not that I would, I'm just posing a hypothetical question. Wouldn't that make the past go away?"_

_"But you'd know and others would know. And somewhere deep inside I would know too. No matter what the written word says or what we tell ourselves, you can't change history. It's not something that's flowing and mutable."_

_"Well, then what are we supposed to do?"_

_"The same thing that I've been doing. I don't want to be your friend, Malfoy, and you don't really want to be mine. I'm willing to work with you if I have to, but that's as far as it goes. Our relationship is strictly a matter of necessity."_

_"Harry-"_

_Harry cut Draco off sharply. "I didn't want to be your friend in first year and nothing's changed since then."_

_"Everything's changed. We're not the people we were back then. You're a follower of the Dark Lord and I've matured. We've moved on."_

_"Fundamentally, we're still the same. You can't change who you are, your core essence, just because your allegiances change. It takes time."_

_"Time's something we have plenty of."_

_"You need other things too, such as willingness. And I'm not willing."_

_"But I am," Draco argued vehemently. "That should be good enough."_

_"It takes two to tango."_

_Draco looked suitably baffled at the Muggle expression, giving Harry the time he needed to forcibly shove the blond Death Eater from his room and out into the hallway. Draco was left staring at a slammed door and blinking as he tried to collect himself. _

_"Damn Potter," he muttered, before walking off, glancing backwards over his shoulder in case the other boy decided to come out._


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_Draco stalked around just outside of Harry's room as he was accustomed to doing. The night was heavy and dark and rather uncomfortable. The cold gray flagstones caused his booted feet to ache; some thoughtful House Elf had decided it wise to remove the rich Persian rug to save it from wearing out as a result of his pacing._

_No sound came from inside the room, no whimpers or moans or screams of absolute terror torn forth from a broken throat in guttural fright. Perhaps this would be a good night. Perhaps there would be no nightmares. _

_Draco shook his head indignantly. Harry always had nightmares, every night without fail. He wondered silently how his dorm mates at Hogwarts had ever gotten any sleep. Perhaps he was just exceptionally good at silencing charms, or one of his room mates was._

_Or, a snide voice whispered in the back of his head, the nightmares are new._

_Whichever way it went, Draco could not even begin to imagine the horrors that Harry witnessed over and over again, night after night in his dreams._

_What could be so horrible that he could not forget about it, even in the blissful peace of sweet repose? Everyone had nightmares, of course, but Harry's seemed to be more terrible than most. They were at an almost primal level, insane fear and hunger and an overpowering sense of loss and the urge to flee. _

_A whimper floated out from underneath the small crack beneath the door. Draco paused, pushing one ear up against the wood surface and listening intently. It was soon followed by another groan._

_Soon the moans rose in pitch and volume until they were full-fledged shrieks. Even had he been halfway down the corridor and not paying attention, Draco was sure he still would have heard them._

_Frustrated, he yanked open the door, hurrying inside and dropping to his knees beside the wide bed. Never before had he dared to enter during the midst of the screams and what he saw shocked him._

_Harry was curled in one corner of the gigantic bed, knees pressed sharply to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. He was shivering uncontrollably, and scratching at his arms with his nails. _

_Tears were running freely down his cheeks and his lips were dry and chapped. Draco stared on in horror, watching the slight boy tremble in irrepressible fright._

_"Shh, Harry, it's alright," he whispered gently, though his voice cracked. "Nothing's wrong, no one can hurt you here." If anything, however, his pleas only made Harry worse. He began to thrash about, whipping from one end of the bed to the other in wretched agony._

_"Harry, you're safe," Draco tried again, hesitantly laying a hand on Harry's arm to still it. "It'ls okay now, everything will be just fine."_

_Harry jerked away from his touch, scrambling to the other side of the bed and almost falling off. His eyes were still closed and his breathing was heavy. "Don't touch me!" he hollered piteously. "I didn't do anything, I swear! It wasn't me! Please!" His voice broke into dry sobs and he collapsed in a quivering ball._

_"Harry, there's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. No thing can get you, no one can touch you. You're perfectly safe." Slowly, so as not to upset Harry anymore, Draco crawled on to the bed and picked a careful path over to the other boy. With halting arms he wrapped himself around Harry, rocking him back and forth._

_" 'Snot my fault," the dark haired boy whimpered._

_"Nothing's your fault, Harry. Nothing at all."_

_Slowly the raven-haired boy fell asleep, Draco's arms still tightly around him._

_

* * *

_

"The crux of the matter is that the attack will come swiftly and without warning."

Dumbledore's words were met with an uncomfortable silence from the assembled Order of the Phoenix. The witches and wizards stood with countenances drawn in grave, solemn lines, reflecting the sombre aura of the meeting.

Surprisingly, not a single member whispered about this harsh news; it may have been unwanted but it was by no means unexpected. Dumbledore sighed as he realized once again just how far the situation had spun out of his control.

"We can't know when. We have no precedent to base this on; Hogwarts itself has never been directly attacked. The best we can do is to remain constantly vigilant and hope for the best."

"What about the wards?" a new member, not old enough to be inducted into the Order under normal circumstances, asked. "They're impenetrable... aren't they?"

"Unfortunately, even the strongest wards can be broken over time. Our one advantage is slim and Voldemort may not take the bait."

"What advantage?" the young man pressed, emboldened by his youth.

"I can not reveal that unless it falls into the wrong hands." Dumbledore's eyes hardened for a moment and he quickly scanned over each of the Order members as if searching for traitors in their midst.

"But that's why Harry turned!" Hermione argued, rising to her feet in sudden vehemence. "You can't just not tell people things. Don't you trust us?"

"This is a war, Ms. Granger. It would be foolhardy to trust anyone."

"But we're the Order of the Phoenix! Our entire purpose is to oppose the Dark Lord! How can we accomplish that if we are kept in the dark?" She spread her hands out plaintively to either side, appealing to the crowds around her. "If you do that, you'll just lose more people, like Harry. No one can trust someone who doesn't trust them."

"The senior members are aware, Ms. Granger. You are simply too young to be involved in this. As for Mr. Potter, there is much more to the tale than you could possibly hope to be aware of."

"Like what?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly, hiding his own uncertainties behind a calm mask of omniscience. "Now is neither the time nor place, Ms. Granger. When you are older-"

"I might not get to be any older! We're in a war! I could die tomorrow! I don't have the leisure to grow up at a normal rate, none of us do. If we don't mature quickly and get involved now, we won't have the opportunity to; we'll be dead or in hiding or slaves. We don't have a choice!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I think, Ms. Granger, that you have been unsettled by certain events. Perhaps it would be best if you returned when you have had time to come to a more rational viewpoint." Hermione opened her mouth to contest the point, but Dumbledore added a stern "now."

Sighing in defeat, Hermione deftly picked her way through the crowds of people, yanking open the door and stepping outside. She fell back against the stone wall, slowly sinking to the floor. "He's just as bad as You-Know-Who," she whispered, shocked at her own conclusion. "He's no better at all."

Dumbledore massaged his temples with one withe , resting the other elbow on the desk and sighing deeply. Order was tumbling away from him. He felt like a child trying to build an impossibly intricate structure with blocks, only to have the towers and turrets fall to the floor around him time after time.

"Headmaster?" Snape inquired quietly. Dumbledore started and then immediately relaxed; he had forgotten that the potions professor had stayed behind to discuss matters.

"Yes, Severus?"

"As far as I know, Voldemort still believes that the parchment will work. It was, after all, given to him shortly after I became a spy when he had no suspicions about me. He won't expect the stronger, more numerous wards that we have in place."

"Tom may not, true. But Harry and Mr. Malfoy are much more discerning, and Harry will not trust the list of wards so easily. They, if no one else, will be prepared for the possibility of more resistance."

"They are blinded by their... infatuation."

Dumbledore's lips quirked upwards, a ghost of a smile. "You may well be right. If that is the case, it would be to our advantage."

"I don't like this," Snape reciprocated wearily as if experiencing extreme lassitude from reiterating the same warning over and over again. "They're just children-"

"They stopped being children the moment they joined Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore interrupted, steel in his suddenly chilly voice.

"What's the difference between them and Granger and Weasley? They are all the same age. Weasley and Granger chose to join one side of the war just as Draco and Potter chose theirs."

"Harry and Mr. Malfoy are quite different from those two students. They perform Dark curses, take sadistic pleasure in their actions, and have joined Dark Revels. They are both aware of the full consequences of their actions, whether or not they think they will come to pass. It is our choices who make us what we are, and they have chosen the wrong side."

* * *

"Hermione?" The distant voice came from the Common Room, but she did not bother to pay any attention to it. Instead, she turned once more to Neville, glancing over her shoulder to assure herself that they were securely hidden from sight.

"What's this about?" she asked urgently, vaguely hearing Ron's footsteps retreat up to the Boy's Dormitories. She and Neville were secreted in one of the lesser used passages into the Gryffindor Common Room, this one leading to the dungeons. Hermione secretly doubted that it had been used for any purpose except for playing pranks on the Slytherins, and Ron would never think (he did that rarely) to look for her here.

"This," Neville replied, withdrawing a dark piece of parchment from his robes. His eyes had lost the haunted look that had inhabited them since Ginny's death and he handed Hermione the parchment with an air of half-hidden fear within their blue depths.

Hermione unfolded it nimbly, smoothing out the creases with ink-stained fingers. She started skimming the contents quickly, listening with half an ear while Neville explained.

"I started noticing things after... after Harry left. Dumbledore had suspicions that I might be the one from the prophecy after all, because Harry had been such a disappointment. They don't make sense."

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, fingers lightly tracing over Neville's messy scrawl. "Where did you learn this?"

Neville winced at her harsh tone before regaining some of his new found composure. "I know what it seems like I'm saying, Hermione, but I swear that it's true-"

"I believe you."

"-I mean, I wouldn't believe me if it were me and it doesn't make any sense, especially not with Dumbledore-"

"Neville, you're right!"

Impulsively, she hugged him, eyes shining with glee for the first time in months.

Neville froze, mouth still open and half-formed words ready to spill forth.

"It all fits together!" Her mind was working quickly, speeding by like a Firebolt. "Harry told me in Hogsmeade that he'd never wanted the Dark Mark! I didn't believe him, I mean, it's supposed to be impossible to get if you do not want it, but he said something about his connection with Voldemort."

"And if he was connected with You-Know-Who, then it really wouldn't matter if Harry wanted the Mark or not?"

"Exactly!"

"But, what are we going to do with it?"

"Give it to Dumbledore, of course! He'll be able to talk to Harry-"

"I don't think so," Hermione interrupted glumly, shaking her chestnut head in the torchlight. "He's given up," she added, remembering the hopeless look in his eyes at the Order meeting. "Dumbledore's always believed in Harry. Now he doesn't. He's looking everywhere for other options. He was discussing with Firenze the other day if the prophecy might apply to another time altogether-"

"How do you know that?"

Hermione did not blush, just looked at Neville self-righteously. "As Head Girl, I am entitled to certain-"

"You were eavesdropping."

"Well... yes..." Hermione amended, a slight rose blush tinting her cheeks.

After several comfortable moments of silence, the two set about planning what exactly they were to do with their newfound knowledge and partnership.

* * *

"What was that about, Hermione?" Ron demanded angrily, stalking up to her at breakfast the next morning.

"What was what about, Ronald?" Hermione retorted angrily, turning back to her porridge lightly sprinkled with cinnamon. She placed another spoonful in her mouth and swallowed, turning another page in her Arithmancy textbook. She could hear Ron seething behind her, but refused to turn around and face him.

"Last night! What did you think you were doing last night! Dumbledore knows what he's doing, we can trust him!"

"Are you going to scream out the secrets of the entire Order out to the Great Hall?" Hermione hissed viciously. "Going to let them all know what's going on? Our plans? What we know?"

Ron worked his mouth for a few minutes before shutting it.

"I didn't think of that."

"Obviously."

"Well, Slytherin is on the other side of the Great Hall, it's not like they can hear us."

"It's not Slytherin I'm worried about!"

"Who then? Gryffindor? Ravenclaw? Bloody Hufflepuff? They won't turn, they're on our side!"

"How can you be so sure? How can you be sure of anything anymore? How can you judge people like that?"

"They're Slytherins!" Ron replied as if this answer were self-explanatory. "They're evil! They're terrible! They're al working for the Dark Lord already! We should all before they have a chance to kill us, murder us all in our beds!"

Hermione slammed her book shut, whirling around to face her boyfriend. She grabbed his arm roughly, nails digging in to the freckled flesh. "We're getting out of here now!"

She dragged him out of the Great Hall and into a shadowed alcove. She pushed him against the wall, arms placed on either side of his head. "If you think for one minute that we're going to survive this war without changing our believes then you're wrong!"

"What are you talking about? Do you think that we're going to have to be evil, that the ends justify the means?" Ron's face was a picture of indignant rage, eyes flashing and cheeks flushing.

"If we survive, we're not going to be the same people we were. We're not going to be carefree. The world won't seem the same. We'll be hardened, veterans."

"My parents survive the last war just fine-"

"Ronald Weasley! You told me earlier about how that ended up! It was chaos! Pure, unadulterated chaos. Everyone was afraid, even years after Voldemort had disappeared. They're different now, and they'll always be different. Nothing can make them the way they were before."

"Hermione! We'll survive! We have to! We're the good guys! We always win!"

"In stories. In fables. Not in real life. Ever read more modern novels? George Orwell, Margaret Atwood, Adolphous Huxley, William Golding? You know how they end? Evil wins. Evil conquers all. The good guys die, or are driven insane, or give up. The ending's more of a beginning of the terror than a real conclusion. That's how it really works, Ron. Not perfect. Not good. Not _deus ex machina_. Nothing like that, Ron, nothing at all."

"Hermione, you're giving up! You're giving in!"

"No I'm not! I'm facing the truth, Ron! We're not going to win the way we are now. We're weak. Ineffectual. We're not going to be able to do anything against them. Not as we are. Only as we could be."

"What are you doing? What do you think you're doing? You're turning, aren't you? Just like Potter. You always liked him better than me. Would have gone out with him if he hadn't been some poof!"

"You don't know anything Ron!"

"What don't I know? I don't know that you're beginning to turn Dark? Look at what you said in the meeting last night Hermione. 'We can't trust Dumbledore. You're wrong, Dumbleore. Harry's not evil, he's misunderstood!' What kind e is that?"

"Don't you speak to me like that, Ronald Weasley." Hermione's voice was quiet, dangerous. "If you're not willing to look at things through another viewpoint instead of your biased, half-cocked views that someone else told you to believe, then, then..."

"Don't say it. Don't say it. I don't want to hear it."

"Too bad for your, Mr. Weasley. You're going to hear it. Eff off. Effing eff off." With a final shove, Hermione whirled around and ran away, fleeing without paying any heed to where she was going. Tears streaked liberally down her cheeks, leaving salty tracks. She didn't care. She didn't care for anything anymore.

* * *

_Harry nuzzled his chin against his shoulder, sleepily itching. He was warm and comfortable. He had not been warm in such a long time. He burrowed deeper under the covers, whining when something stopped his motions. _

_Something moved next to him. Hair brushed against his cheek, tickling lightly. There was a slight dip in the bed where whoever it was pushed himself up. _

_Scared, Harry snapped open his eyelids. Confused, worried silver eyes met his own. "Malfoy?" he asked, half shocked and half disbelieving. _

_"I... I... didn't mean to..." Draco could not think of anything else to say. What had he been thinking, showing up at Harry's rooms in the middle of the night and falling asleep in the other boy's bed? _

_"What the... what are you doing in my bed? Are you trying to rape me or something!"_

_"Harry, I..."_

_Harry shoved him onto the floor angrily, smirking when the taller boy hit the floor with a loud thump. "I don't want to ever see you again."_

_"You don't understand! You were screaming-"_

_"What?" Harry whispered quietly. "You heard that?" Malfoy knew. Malfoy suspected. Malfoy was going to use this against him, turn on him. He was weak. He was a fool. He had to protect himself, somehow. Make him forget, make him forget all about it._

_"You scream fairly loud, and-"_

_"Listen, Malfoy, I don't know what you think you're doing but-"_

_"I came in to comfort you! You were trying to rip your skin off or something! You were screaming and yelling and..." Draco stopped, eyes glazing over at the memory._

_"Just... just forget it Malfoy. Don't think about it anymore. Forget it. It never happened."_

_"It did happen Harry. You told me that we can't erase our past. We can't change it. We only have the future."_

We _don't have anything. It's you and me. Separate. We're not friends, we're not... not anything..." _I don't need friends, _he whispered to himself. _I don't need anyone. Don't need friends, don't need family. They betray you, hurt you.

_He wary not thinking clearly, but he did not care. He just had to get Draco out before he started to dig deeper._

_"Harry... you're not fine. You were screaming. You've got something you're hiding, something that you don't even want to talk about."_

_"And what makes you think you know this?"_

_"You flinched away when I reached out to comfort you."_

_"Of course. Your skin practically radiates gittiness."_

_"That's not the point!" Draco nearly yelled, exasperated. "Look, I know I was... am... a . I know I made your life hell. I know you hate me. I know you wish I would drop over dead. But I'm not. And unless you feel like pouring your little heart out to Voldemort or...or Pettigrew, I'm the best you've got."_

_Harry's eyes studied Draco's face intently. "You... you came into comfort me? Last night? My screaming didn't annoy you or anything?"_

_"Of course it annoyed me! I've never felt so angry! Whoever did those things to you, whoever made you feel like that, deserves to die. But with you? No. Not with you."_

_"You don't... hate me?"_

_Draco lifted himself off the floor carefully, brushing bits of miniscule dust off his sleep-crumpled robes before answering. "No. No. No I don't. Maybe once, but the feeling was mutual, I think."_

_"It was." A small grin lifted one corner of Harry's mouth._

_"And you really did want to comfort me?"_

_"I got you to calm down, Harry. You were curled up into a ball, scratching at your arms and screaming and attacking the air. If I hated you I wouldn't have done that. If I didn't want to comfort you I wouldn't have fallen asleep while trying to get you to calm down."_

_"I've never... never..."_

_"Me neither."_

_The two sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, each of them quietly considering the other._

_"So... what do we do now?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"We can't go on the way we were. We've got to change, to adapt."_

_"We'll find a way."_

_"So what are we now?"_

_"Friends?"_

_"Friends."_

_Draco stuck out his hand formally. Harry blinked at the long-fingered, well-manicured limb for a minute before warily shaking it. He dropped his hand quickly, not liking the pleasant, tingling warmth that spread through his entire body at Draco's touch._


	15. Chapter Fifteen

_"You wanted to see me, sir?" Harry asked quietly shutting the door to Dumbledore's office behind him. The old man was seated placidly behind his desk, scratching at a piece of parchment with a quill._

_"Yes, Harry. I hope you had a pleasant holiday?" Dumbledore's smile was amiable and open, but a hidden fear lurked behind his eyes. He gestured to one of the pair of chairs before his desk and Harry perched lightly on the edge, spine straight and posture tense. _

_Harry merely shrugged. "About as well as could be expected. I'm glad to be back at Hogwarts." Like he was about to tell anyone, much less Dumbledore, of how his summer had really been._

_"Hogwarts is a magical place, full of wonders and surprises. It is an exciting place, even for an old man like me." Dumbledore popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth, offering the dish to Harry. _

_Harry declined, not feeling as if he could stomach the sweet._

_"And how was your health? No headaches or odd pains?"_

_"No, professor," Harry answered quickly. "Everything was wonderful." He could not quite stop a bitter trace of sarcasm from slipping into his tone. Dumbledore appeared not to notice. _

_"Any... visions?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward slightly as Harry's brow furrowed in concentration._

_"I don't know. None that I can remember. If anything had happened I would have written to you."_

_"Of course," Dumbledore responded with a mollifying smile, but Harry sensed some doubt in his words._

_Harry sighed. Dumbledore was fishing for something. Why couldn't he just straight out ask? _

Because I probably wouldn't answer, _he told himself, _at least not honestly.

_"Was Voldemort up to anything?" Harry said, deciding to do some probing of his own. _

_"Not anything more than the usual," Dumbledore answered calmly._

_"The usual? Muggles being tortured and killed is just usual? What about the rapes of women, or the deaths of children? That's just the usual?" Harry rose from the plush velvet chair, fists clenched in rage and eyes narrowed. _

_"I thought you didn't have any visions this summer?"_

_"I didn't! But that doesn't mean I'm stupid! I know what goes on, I've seen it before! People are dying out there, and it doesn't mean anything to you?"_

_"I mourn their loss, Harry, but there is nothing I can-"_

_"Their loss? This isn't their loss. It's our loss. Every death is a failure on our part, something that we could have better, or shouldn't have done. We're losing, Dumbleore. I can feel it. The people have lost hope. Have you been in Diagon Alley lately? There's almost nobody there. Half the shops or closed, or require you to surrender your wand before entering. They're not putting their faith in you or your Order. You're too distant. If you want to win this war, you're going to have to get the people involved. Instead, you've created an elite group that are the only ones aware of what's going on._

_"You have your Order and Voldemort has his Death Eaters. What about the people in the middle? What about the ones who don't want to get involved? What happens to them?"_

_Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and set them down gently on his desk, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs. "They don't have the option to pick one side or the other. This is a war, and sooner or later, whether or not they want, they will be involved."_

_"What about the Muggles?"_

_"They support us, of course. Why would they support a man who wants them all dead?"_

_"They don't even know about us! They can't make their choice! You treat them like children, keep them sheltered from the larger world. But you're not doing it for their benefit. You're doing it for your own selfish gain!"_

_"Harry, my boy, all of this is irrelevant. Voldemort will not be able to continue forever. He himself is Muggle-born. His Death Eaters will not follow him after they learn that he is what they seek to destroy."_

_"Hitler."_

_"Hitler? I'm afraid I don't understand-"_

_"Hitler strove to create a master race. All others were inferior. He wanted everyone to be blonde, blue-eyed, and physically strong. He was none of these. He was a physically weak man addicted to various drugs and he had unprepossessing features. And look at the following he gathered."_

_"I'm quite aware of the Muggle World Wars and their causes and effects, but Voldemort is quite different."_

_"No he's not. He wants genocide. So did Hitler. Millions died. And the war was only won because everyone fought against him. It wasn't just France or Poland or Russia or the colonies. Everyone had to work together in order to defeat him. The common people were involved too, those who weren't Jewish or who didn't even live in Europe. That's what we have to do if we want to win."_

_"I agree, Harry, but these sort of things do not happen overnight."_

_"You've had over a year; how much more time do you need?"_

_"We're doing the best we can."_

_"Somehow I doubt that, Dumbledore. And whatever you're doing, it isn't good enough!"_

_Harry stalked out of the room and made it halfway to the Gryffindor dormitories before collapsing from a combination of exhaustion, both emotional and physical._

_"What am I doing?" he asked the tapestry opposite him, half-expecting a response. This was Hogwarts, after all._

_Was it possible that Voldemort was still influencing him through their connection? But why now, why all of a sudden? Voldemort had been quiet over the summer; his scar had not so much as twinged. _

_Besides, that did not fit. Everything he had said had seemed so right, so complete. He had been speaking from his heart, not having someone else whisper the words in his ear._

_"Maybe it's me. Maybe I've finally begun to crack."_

_It was simply insane, to have an entire world expect a mere sixteen year old boy whose only real talents were finding trouble and playing Quidditch to save them. What was he supposed to do, challenge the Death Eaters to a Quidditch ?_

_He snorted at his own foolishness. He could see the scene now. _

_"So, Voldemort, how 'bout a Quidditch ? If I win, you and your Death Eaters will dress up as clowns and go around to Muggle orphanages with teddy bears and toffee. And if you win, I'll become your sex slave. How does that sound to you?"_

_It was so twisted and yet beautiful. But mostly beautiful. Harry just took that as a sign of how far he had fallen, wondering briefly how much farther he had left to go._

_

* * *

_

A sea of black on a background of ebony and crimson. Darkness and shadows, wrapped up so closely that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

The ocean of Death Eaters seemed to pulsate in time with Voldemort's words, nodding masked heads fervently with glittering eyes.

"This is the day that we have long been waiting for. The day when the Wizarding World will fall beneath us. The day when we take back what is rightfully ours!"

Cheers greeted her pronouncement, wild throaty growls that spoke of savage hunger for blood and destruction. Voldemort smirked at the hold he possessed on his followers, the utter and complete control. They were his and his alone. If he told them to , they would, with relish. They lived to serve.

He knew that there were some few who were not completely loyal- Lucius Malfoy and others too proud of their blood to bow completely before anyone- but they were a minority, and one that could be easily controlled. Even together they did not make a large enough percentage to be a real threat to his reign.

Besides, such individuals were easily... disposed of.

Voldemort waited for the thunderous whoops and hollers to die down to a low, rumbling beat before continuing. "You see before you Harry Potter, a wizard of incredible power. But more importantly, he was raised to hate us. To loathe us. To abhor us. But where is he now? He is mine, and mine alone. Dumbledore has lost him. Why? Because of the senile man's manipulations? Partially. But more importantly, because We. Are. Right!"

The moor was filled with sounds so raucous and unholy that Satan himself must have been disturbed.

Dumbledore stood quietly before the crowded Great Hall, hands placed on the table to either side of him. His azure eyes were darkened with sorrow and strife, his face appearing older with each passing moment.

"The Darkness will wait no longer. But it must still be kept at bay."

Silence greeted his words, terrified stares and sinking despair. "We have lost much in this war: friends, family, homes, possessions. But we have not lost hope."

_Almost, _the crowd seemed to whisper to him. _We're so close that it hardly matters any more. Our Saviour is gone. Our once-bright light has been nearly extinguished. So close to being done. Dead. Gone. An empty void. That's what we'll be soon._

But Dumbledore refused to surrender. "The Darkness can not win. Without Light, the Darkness can not exist."

The thought seemed to linger unsaid in the back of everyone's minds: _the Light can not exist without the Darkness._

"Soon, the Death Eaters will come. They will be ready to kill and murder and rape and commit other unmentionable acts of violence. But we Must. Not. Let. Them. Win. This is imperative to our very survival."

"Plans have been made, emergencies prepared for. You know what to do and where to go."

Hermione, sitting as close to the Slytherins as she dared (and as far away as possible from Ron), could not help but snort. "And that's the best you can give us, isn't it? You offer up false hopes and securities and leave the rest of it up to us. Mere _children_."

A few of the Slytherins looked at her askance, but Hermione did not blush. Instead, she merely lifted her chin and met their guarded gazes with cool eyes.

* * *

Harry watched Lord Voldemort with awe. Never before had he truly understood how the man had commanded such a following. Sure, he himself zealously obeyed the man, but only because of what Voldemort had done for him. Voldemort had opened his eyes to the greater world and torn away the blinds that Dumbledore had closed over him.

But it seemed impossible that Voldemort could have saved everyone like he had saved Harry.

Now, though, he understood. Despite the man's repulsive appearance, he was charismatic and compelling. You almost had to listen. You were drawn in, slowly at first, so as not to alarm you, but then quickly until you were in so deep that you could not even see the path back.

Voldemort's Death Eaters would follow him to Hell (which, Harry mused, they were probably doing right now).

He felt honoured to stand at Voldemort's right hand. He did not care about what would be written about him in the history books nor what others thought of him. His only thoughts were for revenge.

And it was about to be his.

* * *

Ron sat on a bench with the tattered remnants of his family. Mum, dad, and older brother. Fred and George were gone. Ginny was gone. Percy had likely been killed in the attempt to reclaim the Ministry, though they had received no official word of his death. The communication lines were so disrupted that they did not think they ever would.

No one quite knew where Bill was. He had been there with the family to mourn at Ginny's funeral, but afterwards had withdrawn. He had not been seen nor heard from. Somehow, Ron had the bleak idea that Bill had joined the majority of his family.

Only Ron, Charlie, and their parents were left. And out of the four, how many of them would survive the battle to come?

Somehow, he could not imagine any life after the battle. He could not think of a life of slavery. He could not conceive any notion of rebuilding the government after Voldemort was destroyed.

All of his life was this moment, right now. Everything else was lost to him.

Not only his family, but his friends were gone. Potter was gone. He was dead. Hermione had vanished not long after. He could make out her curly hair from across the crowded room. She sat, to his utter disgust, near the Slytherins, and did not look at all uncomfortable there.

_She was always ambitious, _an insidious voice inside his head whispered, _she's a Slytherin at heart. They all are. Even Neville. Not even a year after Ginny's died and he's already set on stealing my girlfriend away from me._

He had seen the looks they traded. Those of companionship and a damnable shared knowledge that infuriated him to no end. There were likely plotting to help the Death Eaters into the castle. They had followed Harry. They were gone.

So Ron sat and fumed, hardly hearing a word anyone else said and slipping further into his crazed rage.

* * *

Draco's attention was not focused on the Dark Lord. Instead, it was focused on Harry.

Harry, who had been through so much. Been orphaned, and then treated as a slave by his family. His entire life had been manipulated until he was little more than a glorified symbol.

But now, that was all about to change.

Hogwarts would fall. There was no other way about it in Draco's mind. And then Harry would stop having his nightmares and the world would be peaceful and orderly once more.

But first Hogwarts had to fall.

And he would see to it.

* * *

Neville Longbottom was considered by most to be a weakling, a little insipid fool too stupid to know one end of his wand from the other. He was no Gryffindor, the others whispered, but a Hufflepuff. And even then he was more like a Squib.

They never even considered how strong he must be to bear under the incredible pressure of such merciless teasing. Never even thought about how, now that Harry was gone, he was expected to carry the weight of the Prophecy now that Harry refused to.

And Neville was by no means stupid.

He had seen Dumbledore's ploy for just that, and had acted accordingly. Dumbledore had paid him no heed before Harry had disappeared, and yet suddenly he was lavished with attention. Not because Dumbledore trusted him or believed in his abilities.

But because Dumbledore needed a symbol.

A living, breathing, larger than life symbol. That was what Harry had been. Well, he still was, in a way, although now he was a symbol for Lord Voldemort instead.

But what Dumbledore needed was someone to thrust into the critical eye of the public, someone who would save them all. He needed a victim, a pawn.

Neville was determined to be neither.

He was beginning to understand why Harry might have turned. There was so much pressure, pushing him down and up and side to side until he was quite sure he had reached a rather impossible state of zero mass. He was trapped in the middle of a black hold of the unrealistic, unfeasible expectations of others.

Everyone wanted a hero. But they wanted it to be someone else. Someone they could place on a golden pedestal when it was convenient and shove away like Christmas decorations during the rest of the year. They did not want a hero at all, really.

They just wanted for the war to be someone else's problem.

_Well, he's the one who has to kill You-Know-Who. I can't do anything about it. So I'll just sit back and wait for it all to happen. It won't possibly affect me. And he'll always be there to save the day. I'm in no danger. He'll take care of everything._

They did not understand- perhaps were incapable of understanding- that in order to win the war or at least take a good shot at it there would be more than one person involved. Yes, Harry might be the only one who could kill the Dark Lord. But that meant precisely nothing, really.

After all, what about all the other Death Eaters? What about the new Dark Lord that would inevitably spring up after Voldemort's fall?

No one wanted to think of that.

They did not want to think of the future.

They were not willing to entertain possibilities.

After all, it was not their problem.

* * *

Deep within the hidden recesses of their minds, all the wizards and witches knew what was about to happen. Their souls cried out in anguish at the future, at the events about to send them spiraling down into death and darkness.

Muggle-born babies cried, leaving their parents confused. After all, the children were warm and safe and well-fed and had nothing to fear but being denied a bit of candy.

But they did not scream for the present.

They screamed for their future. For the world they had been born into was one that was about to be filled with unresolvable conflict. It was a battle that had been waging since before the beginning of time and would continue to be fought when nothing existed, but it was reaching a spike.

For them, there might not be any Hogwarts. There might not be any birthday parties, or first dates, or marriage, or children.

For them, there might not be any life.

No one with magic in them, however small, slept. They stared at the ceiling or huddled under down blankets and tried counting sheep. Their interconnected minds- held together by the undeniable link of magic- were a seething web of doubts and fears. None could sleep, for none knew whether or not they would ever have the chance to be awake again.

And yet they had no comprehension as to why their sudden panic had occurred.

They told themselves they were being silly, or had read one too many horror novels, or were letting their imagination run away with them.

But still, the doubt remained beneath, well hidden in the shadows, evanescent and everlasting.

They fretted and made up long, detailed stories to comfort themselves. They crooned half-forgotten lullabies from childhood, whispered reassurances that did nothing to assuage their fear.

For in the end, their fear was well founded.

The morrow would bring with it change, whether good or bad. Those more in tune with their instincts could tell that the world was at a crossroads. But then, the world is often at such points, and who could say that this moment was any more crucial than the last?

Perhaps nothing would happen after all, perhaps they were all safe.

Perhaps they were not really awake and had merely been dreaming of the past years of battles and bloodshed.

Perhaps...

But the thought could not form, and they were left bereft of hope.

The angels and demons looked upon the world that they had pulled one way or another for countless millennia. Each side determined to win, equally sure that they were in the right and the other would suffer.

They did not take into account the lives of the mortals whom they were toying with. Gods seldom do, really. For the most part they do not see themselves as creations of the mortals, built to serve their intrinsic need for faith, but instead as some superior race.

If asked, neither side could say what the battle was really about. "For peace", some said, or "to prove that we were right". But neither had any real reason. Their explanations had been lost so long ago that it was unlikely that any of them even remembered if there were any to begin with.

They watched the mortals arm themselves with wands and talismans and spells of protection. They looked on as rallies were held, speeches were given, and attempts to bolster morale utterly failed. They observed the frenzy and the fear and the frantic fuss.

But they did not really see.

They were blinded by their own immortality. For them, life would go on. They could not understand that those far below would have an end. It was unthinkable, and a bit blasphemous.

And yet, they were quite similar to their mortal counterparts. For they held their contradictions: they could not believe in their own end, but whole-heartedly and fervently cleaved to the future end of the other.

In the end, there was little difference between the two.

Angels and demons were the same.

Good and bad, dark and light.

Everything conformed to a pattern that no one had set; they forced themselves into it and suffered because of it.

Collectively, the world held its breath, afraid to exhale and speed the destruction. Any action, however miniscule, could tip the carefully balanced scales in one direction or the other, upsetting everything.

Behind their tightly clenched eyes and fervent prayers, a deep certainty lurked. Somehow, things would never be the same again.

And yet it would never change.

Such is the way the human mind works, and it bends its reality according to its perceptions, false and imagined alike.

In the pre-dawn chill preceding the last day of the year, the forces of Darkness assembled on the edges of the Hogwarts grounds. Werewolves, vampires, ogres, hags, wizards, witches, demons, and creatures without names were joined together in a single cause.

If that cause had not been death, it might have been a miracle.

But enemies are united by death and blood above all else, and such were the bonds between the troops gathered to destroy the castle.

As one entity they marched forward, single-minded of purpose and intent.

And though it may seem trite to use such a cliched phrase, all Hell broke loose.

Quickly and violently.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

This was it. This was really it. Harry felt himself shivering with excitement as Hogwarts materialized into view before him. Draco appeared next to him but a half second after, silver eyes shining with glee.

In the pre-dawn gloom the castle appeared like a black silhouette against a backdrop of grays of varying shades: steely, misty, charcoal, and granite.

As the Death Eaters materialized behind him, Harry could not help but surge forward a bit before restraining himself. They all wore their characteristic inky black cloaks, whipping around them in the chilly breeze. They were a writhing mass, full of sound and fury, ready to attack the last remaining stronghold in all of Great Britain.

Voldemort raised on skeletal arm slowly, drawing the attention of all his followers. He whispered an incantation and the Dark Mark shot out of his wand, sickly green, illuminating the night sky. All of the Death Eaters raced forward like a giant wave, dew drops splattering behind them.

Harry himself led a legion of werewolves. He was, after all, one of them, and Voldemort had precious few lieutenants that he could trust with such a volatile group. Even though it was not the full moon, they had the strength and the fury to tear through any lesser wizards who stood in their way.

The troops spread out like the moon eclipsing the sun, completely covering the last blades of forest green grass peeking through the layer of snow.

They were almost to the castle.

* * *

Charlie Weasley leaned out the window, elbow propped on the sill and eyes half closed. He hated drawing the early morning shift. He had become used to the schedules of the dragons, who were most active at dusk. By this time, he was normally sound asleep.

His freckled forehead slid forward and thumped against the frosted glass pane. Rubbing his temples wearily, he looked out through the glass. He only had half an hour left and then he could go find a bed.

What he saw, though, promised that there would be no sleep.

Thousands of creatures, some he could not even put names to, were rushing towards the school.

Suddenly wide awake, he fumbled for his wand inside the deep pocket of his robes, digging through bits of random trash until he gripped the scratched ash handle. He yelled out an incantation, sending a klaxon alarm blaring throughout the entire school.

The Death Eaters were coming.

* * *

Ron woke cursing and swearing, rubbing his bruised forehead furiously. "Who the hell set the alarm so loud?" he demanded of no one in particular, rising up from the floor where he had fallen. He pulled on a set of robes hurriedly, grabbing his wand and sticking it in the back pocket of his tattered jeans (wrinkled from days of sleeping in), before heading out through the Common Room portrait hole.

He joined the flow of students, parents, and Order members rushing towards the Great Hall. He was too busy to look for anyone in particular, focusing with single-minded intent on the battle.

Tonight was the night.

The night Potter would die.

He would kill him himself.

Secretly, so as not to be caught, Ron had been practising his curses, especially the Dark ones. The Room of Requirement served his purpose nicely, providing him with small animals a-plenty to practise on.

He was not evil, however. No, he definitely was not. He was just going to rid the world of the worst evil it had ever seen, the betrayer, the ultimate Judas.

The ends justified the means.

* * *

Draco attempted to keep up with Harry, but the rush of the mob was too fast. Besides, he had his own legion to lead (some of the younger Death Eaters), and he really should have been seeing to them. So he turned around and yelled for his troops to follow, pulling out his wand and charging forward.

He had been in battle before of course, had even led the attack on the Ministry of Magic himself, but there was something about this particular fight that made the blood- completely Pure of course- sing in his veins.

Many people were going to die. He could not ignore that. Some would be friends, or distant relations, some would be those he had never before met and would never again. But, in the end, it was all worth it.

_But Harry could die, _an insidious voice in the rear of his head commented slyly.

It was true. Harry could die. Draco could die. It could happen.

But it would not.

He hoped.

* * *

Dumbledore closed his eyes at the sight of the streams of people rushing into the Great Hall. When he opened them again, the faces automatically resolved themselves into several categories.

First of all (and the vast majority of people, which he took as a rather negative sign) were the youth. They were unblooded, inexperienced, green, and naive. They had never seen battle before, really, never dueled anyone other than their peers, and even then never seriously. Their faces shone with the glory that was about to come. He could see hopes of heroisism lighting in their round faces, see their cheeks flush red with excitement.

They did not know what they were getting into. Not at all.

Then there were those of the elder generation. Those who had fought in the first war, who had seen friends, children, parents, and other loved ones slaughtered mercilessly, who still shivered at the mere hint of the Dark Mark.

They knew what this was about. They knew what was at stake.

Lastly, there were those who did not really fit into either category. Ronald Weasley, or Neville Longbottom. They had suffered much in their young lives, losing a friend to the Dark side and parents to insanity respectively. They knew what they were fighting for.

But, in the end, he feared their rage would destroy them. Or, at least it would in Ron's case.

Neville had grown up with loss. In a way, he was accustomed to it. Even Ginny's death had been but a glancing blow to him; he had soon recovered and moved on with his life. Dumbledore knew exactly where he stood; at the very least he would make a good symbol, similar to the way Harry had.

Ron, on the other hand, was a very privileged child. Oh, the Weasleys might not have had as much money as they wished, but their children were clothed and fed and had a roof over their heads. And most of all, they had the love that comes from such a tight-knit family.

But Ron's world had been torn apart.

And, judging by the look on Ron's face, he was planning to tear apart the worlds of several others tonight.

"Out of the gates," Dumbledore commanded. "We shall meet them head on."

* * *

They were almost to the set of stairs surrounding the school when the wide double doors burst open, revealing their enemies. Most looked haggard and exhausted, but they still held their wands resolutely.

Harry grinned widely, motioning for his fellow werewolves to surge forward. They complied eagerly, ready to avenge the death and persecution of their race.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the head of the group, wand drawn and eyes a steely blue.

Harry's smug expression of satisfaction grew even wider. "Come out to play, O Master Manipulator?" he snickered, still sprinting forward.

"Attack!" Dumbledore screeched, sending a wave of spells rushing towards the approaching Dark forces.

All was lost in the sudden fury of the battle.

Harry had been in plenty of duels before; he'd led battles both for the Dumbledore and Voldemort. This, though, was something completely different.

Flashes of coloured lights from spells flashed all around him, nearly blinding his vision. Incantations were yelled out, a multitude of voices rising together for the common goal of destruction.

* * *

Parvati lost sight of Padma almost as soon as the battle had begun. One moment her twin was beside her, and the next she was gone. There was no time to look for her sister either; the Death Eaters were pressing in and she had to fight.

She spun, ducking a burst of electric blue light and turned, coming face to face with a well of shadows.

The creature was so dark it made the oppressive night sky seem brilliantly bright in contrast. It had no definite form, oozing through the air slowly. Padma held her wand before her, unsure of which spell to use. She'd never encountered anything like this before.

"Stupefy!" she tried, frowning as the spell had no effect. If anything, the shadow-thing seemed to grow larger, until she could no longer see it's edges. "Accio! Stupefy! Lumos! Nox! Lumos solem! Expecto patronum!"

Her wand fizzled, growing warm in her hand. With a cry she flung it from her, watching in horror as it exploded, the shrapnel grazing her cheek.

"Help!" she cried, hoping that someone could save her.

Her voice echoed endlessly. She turned around, expecting to see battling figures behind her, but there was only the terrible darkness.

She ran, sprinting forward into the black abyss, hoping that she could pierce through somehow.

She glanced over her shoulder, but there was no landmarks she could use to track her progress. There was simply nothing, a never-ending stretch of darkness.

Tears streaking down her cheeks, she sank to the ground, screaming.

* * *

Charlie knocked down a Death Eater with a swing of his fist, a sickening thud sounding from the man's skull. His wand had been pulled from his grasp early in the battle, and he had not found one he could grab for a replacement. As soon as his body had hit the ground, however, another had moved to take his place. "Why it's the dragon boy!" a cold voice sneered behind the plain mask.

In response, Charlie gave a roundhouse kick to the side of the Death Eater's head. The man ducked quickly, responding with a binding hex. Charlie leapt to one side, landing crouched on both feet. He used his hand to push himself forward, throwing himself at the man full-tilt.

"Why don't you go back to your dragons?" Charlie was suddenly stopped by silver light, arresting his motion. "They could burn you alive. Or better yet, impale yourself on that snail of a broom you have." The Death Eater circled in close, taunting him.

"I'd rather kill you," Charlie grunted, punching at the man's midsection, or trying to. His fist moved three centimeters as if through setting concrete before stopping. "You filthy Slytherin."

"You'll never rise above such common behaviours, will you dragon boy? You fought like a Muggle in school and you still do. Despicable from a Pureblood."

Charlie growled. "At least I've the courage to show my face."

"At least I've the brains to pick the winning side." Charlie glared at his opponent, still unable to move. "Do you think your mother will cry over your grave, dragon boy? I don't think she will. She won't have the chance; she'll be raped and killed before the day's done."

The Death Eater paused and Charlie could feel the smug assurance radiating from him. "Or not. No one would want a filthy whore of a Weasley."

"Go eff yourself!" Charlie roared, struggling against his invisible restraints.

"After I off you."

There was a bright flash of emerald light.

* * *

Macnair grinned as the corpse fell before him, already cooling in the winter air. He kicked the young girl until she rolled over, still smirking. Dumbledore thought that he could stop them with a handful of teenagers, it seemed. This one certainly hadn't gotten far.

He hurled a Cruciatus Curse at a young man, laughing in terrible delight as he fell to the frozen ground, shrieking in pain. "Poor little one," he crooned, his voice sickly sweet. "Too bad you picked the wrong side."

"Stupefy!" More out of instinct than anything else, Macnair leaped to one side, letting the curse through. It hit the boy, but he was already so far gone from the pain that sleep made little difference.

"You can't take me down with a mere stupefy!" he crowed, delighted. His opponent was that giant oaf Hagrid, the one whose rabid hippogriff he had almost killed. He still had an odd feeling about that incident.

"Death Eater scum!" Hagrid yelled in response, clutching at a pink umbrella with both enormous hands. He swung the umbrella over his head, and brought it down again. "Avada Kedavra!"

"Like a half-breed could pull off a spell like that," Macnair scoffed, pleased at the popping sound the umbrella made. "You don't even have a proper wand."

"Bleeding Death Eater!"

Hagrid raised one gigantic fist, knocking Macnair to the ground. "This is fer Harry! And this is fer his parents! And this is fer makin' everyone hate 'im! And this is fer turnin' 'im evil!"

Each blow was accompanied by a reason, so many that Macnair lost track of them all. Of course, that could have had something to do with the fact that he was suffering a mild concussion.

"And this is for Buckbeak!" Hagrid kicked at the fallen form of the Death Eater with one gigantic foot, cracking his spine. Macnair's last thought was that he should have killed both the beast and its master.

* * *

Aiden huddled in a corner of the Great Hall, trying to pretend that the booms of battle were just in his imagination. His parents were out there, and his older brother. They were fighting the bad guys, in order to protect Aiden and the other kids.

The Great Hall was stuffed with children ranging from newborns to twelve year olds. A small group of adults patrolled the entrance, exchanging nervous glances and whispering quietly so as not to alarm the children.

Aiden was scared anyway.

He hadn't even realized anything was wrong until mummy had hauled him out of bed in the middle of the night. He was cranky from his interrupted sleep and struggled against her. Frantically he had been told to be quiet. He continued to whine, not understanding what his mother was doing.

"Be quiet!" she had whispered venomously, slapping his cheek. "Be quiet, or they'll find us."

And the Death Eaters had found him. He hadn't known who they were at first; his dad was an Auror and lost of weird people came to visit them all the time. These men had been scary though. They had cackled and shot off spells.

Aiden and his mother had barely made it to the Floo in time, landing in a pile of dust inside Hogwarts. Ever since his brother had gone away, Aiden had wanted to visit the castle. Now he just wished he were back home with his teddy bear.

A girl a few years younger than Aiden began to cry, tears streaming down his pudgy cheeks. He remembered what his mummy had told him before she rushed outside. "Be a brave boy, Aiden, and help with the little ones."

Obediently he crawled over to the girl, patting her head awkwardly. "Don't cry. Your mummy and daddy will be back soon."

"They're dead!" she bawled, flinging her small frame at Aiden's chest. "The bad men killed them!"

"You can share mine," Aiden offered with youthful exuberance. "I don't have a sister."

"Weally?" the girl asked, looking up through her blonde bangs.

"Yeah! And I'll teach you how to play Qwiditch. Have you ever played before?" The girl shook her head, the tears gradually coming to a stop. "It's loads of fun! You get a bunch of people and brooms and these balls and-" He continued talking about his favourite subject for some time, momentarily able to forget his fears.

* * *

"Clan traitor!" the werewolf called, rushing towards Remus Lupin with ferocious speed. "Clan traitor!"

The graying werewolf looked as haggard as ever, certainly nothing like a warrior on the field of battle. The only reason he was out here fighting was to find Harry and convince him- somehow- to stop.

"I didn't betray anyone, Joshua," he answered, meeting the gray eyes of his kin with his golden ones. "Voldemort has offered you an empty promise; he has no reason to fulfill it."

"Better an empty promise than none at all!" another werewolf disagreed, coming up alongside Joshua.

"Harry Potter fights at his side, and he is a werewolf!" a third added, joining his fellows.

"You are a clan traitor, Remus Lupin! The clan decided that it was for the best to side with Voldemort, yet you disobeyed. The pack offered you comfort and safety when no one else would, yet you spurned us."

"There were always humans, Joshua, always humans who didn't hate us. And yet here you are killing off the few who worked to help us."

A feral grin split Joshua's broad, dark-skinned face. "We wolves have to stick together, but you betrayed that trust. You chose the goals of humans over the goals of the pack. You are a traitor. And we will kill you."

"You are not the pack leader; you have no right to make that decision."

"We've a new pack now, with a new leader. You no longer hold that position, Lupin."

"Whoever it is has not followed the ancient rules set down by the first of our kind. He has not challenged me for the right to lead."

Joshua smirked. "I trust you'll find Harry Potter a decent enough leader of our pack, won't you? He was, after all, almost your cub."

Remus' heart sank heavily as if attached to lead weights.

"Harry does not want me killed," Remus attempted, pleased to see the smile on Joshua's face recede.

"He has given no orders concerning you." Joshua sounded extremely reluctant to admit this.

"Then you can't kill me, now can you?"

"I will stand above your rotting corpse, Remus Lupin," Joshua promised, backing away with his small gang of werewolves, "and when I do, not even Harry Potter will try to save you."

Remus rushed off to find Harry, more desperate than ever to change his mind.

* * *

The battle for Hogwarts, for the Wizarding world, for the Muggles and the Muggle-borns and the world raged on.

Countless people fell to spells or fists or daggers, their blood staining the ground red. The defenders were hopelessly outmatched, yet they fought on, hoping that somehow something would come to help them. The Death Eaters and their allies pressed their advantage, pushing the defenders back towards the stone walls of the ancient castle.

The battle was not one large attack but rather small groups of warring individuals. Duels had been the mainstay of Wizarding society for so long that even in the midst of a battle that would decide the fate of the world there was no large scale strategy.

Ron had been hoping for something like a chess game; the pawns had their clear positions, just as the king and queen of each side were obvious. What he found though, was something much closer to the whole fiasco at the Department of Mysteries.

He had attributed the chaos and confusion of that battle to their youth and inexperience, but now he was beginning to understand that that was exactly what war was.

He cast his Dark curses quickly, pleased to see that they worked as well on humans as they did on lesser forms. He didn't think anyone noticed; there were so many spells being flung this way and that that nothing short of a Priori Incantum would prove what he himself had been using.

But all the Death Eaters he struck down, all surprised that a mere schoolboy, especially a Gryffindor Weasley, could kill them so effectively, meant nothing to him. Even had he killed Voldemort himself there would have been very little joy or grim satisfaction for Ron.

He was out here to kill Potter, and every fallen Death Eater was just one small blow to his former friend.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy looked at the girl, a Ravenclaw by the badge on her robes, he had just killed with disdain. There was nothing to this battle; he was just slaughtering a bunch of idiotic, half-educated children.

Of course, he still took pleasure in their deaths, especially when a student with a lion on their robes fell before his curses.

He glided forward smoothly and calmly, acting as if he were strolling through Diagon Alley rather than pacing through a hectic battlefield. He was a Malfoy after all, and Malfoy's were not moved by mere things such as battles.

"Avada Kedavra!" he uttered, sending a blinding flash of light towards a muscular man running towards him. Immediately the man crumpled, wand falling from his limp hand.

"Pathetic," he sneered, moving on to his next victim.

At least this would all be over soon; his son and the Potter boy dead at his hand and his rightful place by the Dark Lord restored once more.

* * *

The Death Eaters were getting too close to the castle, Dumbledore noticed with narrowed eyes. Soon they would break through and the war would be lost. He turned away from his view of the school grounds from the stairs next to the main entrance. He would fight if he needed to, but right now he needed to save his strength and allow the others to fight.

His wand, in his hand just in case, was raised and whipped around in an intricate motion, ending with a heavy jab forwards. Instantly, a golden phoenix appeared in the sky, contrasting with the sickly Dark Marks hovering above the battlefield.

McGonagall and Flitwick moved from behind him, entering the castle in order to assist with moving the children down to the dungeons. Dumbledore focused his eyes on the North Tower where a group of powerful wizards and witches were waiting for this signal.

A brilliant blue glow shone from the tower, spreading slowly until it enveloped all of the Hogwarts grounds in it's eerie metallic glow.

Some of the duels below stopped, their participants looking about them wildly.

Dumbledore smiled, pleased with the confused look on Harry Potter's face. Swiftly, comprehension overtook his confusion, followed by anger and a certain sense of having been right.

"It's the wards!" the boy shouted, garnering the attention of everyone. "They've turned on the wards!"


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Harry fumed, watching as the blue barrier solidified and then slowly faded, leaving only a light sparkle if one looked closely. He had known there had to be something more to the defense of Hogwarts, had argued with both Voldemort and Draco over it. And here was his proof; it infuriated him.

"Bastard!" he screamed, rushing forward. But Dumbledore had already retreated inside, and most of the other Order Members were doing likewise.

Now the castle itself was closed to them, and they had the wards to deal with. They didn't even know what the blasted things did!

"Malfoy! Lestrange! Nott! Avery! McMillan! Regan!" Voldemort called out, gathering six of his most magically powerful Death Eaters. "I want you to take these wards down, now! They started from that tower; destroy it!"

The six clustered together in a small group, looking up towards the tower and conferring with themselves. The rest of the Death Eaters picked up the stragglers who were too slow to reach safety inside of Hogwarts. Harry ignored them all, sprinting up to the entrance of the castle. He sneered at the dead bodies below him, fools who thought they could withstand the might of the Dark Lord. But even for the fools they were, they had managed to stop the Death Eaters temporarily. He paced and growled atop the long flight of stone steps, banging on the gigantic door in frustration.

"Harry!" Harry turned just in time to see a crimson-clad figure rushing towards him, silver serpent shining on his cheek before he was face to face with Draco.

"That bastard tricked us! I knew we shouldn't've trusted that parchment!"

"It wouldn't make any difference," Draco attempted to convince Harry, though he too looked resentful. "We'd still have to break through them. Now we just get a bit of a break."

"While they have the ability to regroup as well! This isn't going as planned! They should all be dead by now!"

"They can't escape by Floo; we have that blocked off. They're trapped inside the castle. Besides, if everything else fails, we can always use some of the passageways between Hogsmeade and the castle."

They've probably blocked those up by now," Harry predicted sourly. "Dumbledore will pay for this! I hate him! I effing hate him!"

Harry pounded his fist against the door, hoping that wherever Dumbledore was he heard and was frightened.

* * *

Dumbledore repressed a shiver as the doors of the castle were repeatedly beaten. A large, flickering screen, rather like a Muggle cinema projector, was situated at the far end of the Great Hall, displaying the entrance. Harry Potter paced back and forth, silver snake writhing on his cheek and eyes glaring at everything in sight.

"Why can't we just kill him?" Ron Weasley demanded, blood trickling down from his red hair. "He's out in the open; we could just off him right here!"

Opening the doors would weaken the auxiliary wards we have in place, Mr. Weasley. We can not risk the lives of so many for the sake of your vengeance."

"Do you really want to kill Harry?" Remus Lupin asked, holding his wand limply and watching Harry with sad eyes.

"Of course! Don't you?" Lupin didn't respond, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He was a forlorn figure; few would venture near him. No one wanted to be close to a dangerous werewolf who would probably betray them to his kindred at any moment. He looked as if he needed a good stiff drink more than anything else. "You don't do you?" Ron queried suddenly, though he sounded as if he were sure of the answer. "You're on his side, aren't you, Lupin? Siding with your werewolf friends." Ron was so desperate to fight someone that he even goaded the mild-tempered Lupin. One by one he was driving everyone away but he didn't seem to care. As long as Harry died, it seemed, Ron would be content.

"I have lost my position as pack leader in order to fight for the Order, Ron. I could have betrayed you long ago, but I didn't." Dumbledore shook his head, feeling deeply for his former student. Harry had been the only thing left to Remus; James, Lily, and Sirius were dead and Pettigrew turned traitor. Remus had never forgiven himself for not being there when Harry had left or for not convincing him to return last month.

Ron, however, couldn't see past his own ego-centric world. "But you don't want Harry to die. That's as good as a betrayal."

Dumbledore interrupted, clearing his throat. "Now is not the time for divisions to be made between us. Now is a time for strength."

Collin Creevey rushed into the Great Hall, face red and out of breath. "They say the Death Eaters are starting to unravel the wards," he panted, gulping in air. "The weaker ones are already falling, and the stronger ones don't have long."

"How much time do we have?"

"Half an hour, give or take. Not long."

Dumbledore nodded his head sadly. "Thank you, Mr. Creevey. Are the children secure in the dungeons?" Flitwick nodded, his long cap bobbing up and down with his head. "The wounded are seen to?" Molly Weasley nodded, pushing a sweaty strand of red hair out of her eyes.

"There… there aren't many, but Madame Pompfrey has the few that are." Her eyes suddenly turned solemn. "If they aren't in the infirmary or her, they're probably… dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head compassionately, and then raised it, eyes burning with cobalt determination. "We must fight on in their honour," he declared firmly, "for their deaths will not be in vain."

Hermione, seated in the rear of the Great Hall, had to stop herself from snickering. "Oh, they won't die in vain," she commented caustically, "they'll die to further your purpose. Because even if we do win, you'll just turn into a benevolent dictator instead of a malevolent one. And there's not that big of a difference."

* * *

Madame Pompfrey bustled from one bed to the other, apron pockets full of potions and bandages. A few of the older students whose talents lay in healing and not combat trailed behind her, offering their scant comforts.

This was all the blasted Potter boy's fault. Why, he'd been in the infirmary so often in his years at Hogwarts that she would have thought he knew what it was like to be in these people's position. But, no, he didn't.

She was a nurse, and sworn to never take a life, but sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she had refused to take care of Potter just once.

Broken arms, unexplained headaches, the after-affects of the Cruciatus: Potter had seen it all. And now he was the one shouting the curses instead of dodging them. It was such a gargantuan change from the sweet, if sad, boy he used to be.

Secretly, in her deepest fantasies, she hoped that through some bizarre turn of events Potter would end up needing her care. She could just imagine how he'd plead and beg.

It might be a bit sadistic, but she was certainly no worse than potter. And that would never happen anyway; in this war it was kill or be killed, sad as she was to admit it.

Still, if she ever were to be asked to take care of Potter…

She turned to the next patient, a young boy with burns covering his body with a grim smile on her face, humming forcefully as she continued her work.

* * *

Deidra stood firmly in the tower, legs planted a few feet apart and arms held in front of her, palms stretching as if they might break. A purple light shone from her hands, but she couldn't see it. She was too intent on her work, eyes closed and thick lips chanting the ancient words.

"Ni canta di danu!" she whispered, speaking in one of the old tongues that few knew. "Li palma, li kana!"

"Deidra! Is it working?" The purple light glimmered and shook, darkening and lightening, streaks of black and silver roiling throughout the evanescent orb. The question jolter her out of her deep concentration. Suddenly she was aware of the grimy, sweaty deep purple robes she wore. She realised that her bare feet were freezing on the flagstone floor and that her brown, sun streaked hair was blocking her vision.

She pushed the lo9ng curly fringe out of her amethyst eyes, surprised at how much energy the small movement took. "Nin ji aina peyna!" Her bitten finger nails dug into her palm in frustration. "Nin ji aina, nin ji."

Thom blinked at her, confusion showing in his cerulean eyes. "What?"

"Nin ji aina peyna!" she snapped, then blinked as she realised the problem. "The victory will not be ours," she informed him sadly. "By myself, I can not stop the Eaters of Death. My magic is not up to the task. Where are the others, the ones who were here?"

Thom shook his head. "They're drained. None of them can last any longer. Most have collapsed from exhaustion, and there are no replacements. You are on your own."

"Tristu!" Deidra snapped, shaking her head. Her curls fell out of the loose ponytail with the movement, twirling about her head. "Din kana ti tristu bi din nimu!" Thom didn't even appear to be insulted by the grievous insult, which only made Deidra even more incensed.

"When your master contacted me," she finally managed slowly, her words heavily accented, "I was told that help there would be." She knew three dozen languages fluently and could pull off all sorts of accents, but when she was highly irate she always slipped back into the intonations and the structures of the tongue of her childhood. At the moment, she was surprised that she could continue to speak their pitiful English tongue. "Now there are none left of the help. The Eaters of Death will soon enter. Me, I can do not a thing."

"But we're counting on you!" Thom pleaded, desperation beginning to show in the lines between his eyebrows. "We need you!"

"You are too young to know anything, tristu bi din nimu. Your lives mean naught to me; I will be as I have been for always. I came because your master knew the right words in the right tongue. But he had merely learned them from an ancient tome and knew naught of my people. He can no speak the tongue of ours. He is too young."

"Dumbledore's not young!" Thom argued, face bright red. This woman, who only looked like she was twenty-five, was accusing him of ignorance and youthful naïveté. He had been fighting for the Order of the Phoenix for longer than she was alive, and she had no right to call him young, or whatever that other crap that passed for a language meant. "You think that just because you can mumble some shite and make impressive gestures that you are our only hope! Stop giving up! Do your damn job!"

"If you think the wards are so easily managed," Deidra growled, the threat of a challenge heavy in her voice, "then you may take them over."

She closed her eyes again and focused, finding the ties that bound her to the castle and its wards. Slowly, carefully, so as not to cause a backlash when the universe realised that what she was doing went against all natural laws, she unwound them from around herself and lashed them onto the mere boy.

Thom's gray eyebrows rose and he fell to his knees, screaming in pain. Deidra ignored him, sweeping past. She would no longer deal with these children who played with their magic, not caring that it was their fire that scorched the world around them. Either they would learn to control themselves or they would die.

Odds were heavily banked towards the latter.

* * *

The sky flashed, first a brilliant purple, then a blinding white. In Hogsmeade, the few remaining people were thrown from their sleep, the light invading their homes even through thick curtains drawn against the winter chill.

Henry immediately reached for his wand, cursing all the gods he had ever heard of. He'd thought- stupidly perhaps- that he and his family would be safe in Hogsmeade. It was, after all, the largest Wizarding community in all of Britain, and guaranteed an extra measure of protection due to is proximity to Hogwarts.

"Henry?" his wife called from the bed, clutching the sheets to her chest in terror, "what is it?"

"I don't know," he answered, "but I'll bet a thousand galleons it's the Death Eaters."

"The children!" Sarah gasped, racing over to the wardrobe. She quickly pulled on a gray robe, yanking boots onto her feet at the same time. "We've got to get the children out of here!"

"But where can we go? Where can we be safe?"

"Anywhere! Anywhere but here!" Sarah cried, hysterical.

"Mummy?" a tiny, frightened voice called out. Their daughter appeared out of the shadows, eyes wide and face white with terror. "Mummy, daddy, I had a bad dream-"

"It's okay, honey," Henry answered, picking the toddler up and holding her tightly. "We're going to have to leave for a while, okay? Now let's go get your favourite robe on and we'll get Ewan and then we're going to go on a vacation, okay?" Terra nodded, still scared but willing to relax in her father's arms.

"Sarah," Henry said in an undertone to his wife, "get Ewan and I'll meet you at the fireplace."

Still holding Terra, Henry set off towards her small room, decorated with unicorns and cute, stylized dragons. He turned on the light and set his daughter down, hurrying over to the wardrobe and pulling a robe from its depths.

"That's not my favourite, Daddy!" Terra complained when he brought it out. "I like the pink one better!"

"Not now!" Henry snapped. Terra shivered at the rough tone in his voice, picking up her pink and purple dragon plushie and holding it to her chest. Henry rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry, Terra, but we've got to go now." He held out the pink robe, helping Terra into it.

Terra, still holding her dragon, trotted after her father obediently, fear forgotten. "Where are we going, daddy?" she asked.

"I don't know, sweetheart," he answered, then thought better of it. "Well, I do, but it's a surprise. Let's just be quiet and meet up with mummy and Ewan, okay?" Terra nodded sweetly and reached up to hold on to her father's hand.

Henry, though, was too terrified and too outraged to even notice the simple act of his daughter's faith.

* * *

Lucius stumbled backwards at the sudden burst of light, reeling from the sheer shock of the explosion. It was then that he realised there was no sound; in fact, he had no sensory information at all except for the blinding light.

As soon as it had appeared, the light was gone, replaced with the rising sun. The sky was red, a fitting symbol for this day of bloodshed. And not just the blood of those Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers either. It would be the blood of his son and that Potter boy that soaked into the ancient cracks of Hogwarts this day.

His lips curled in a vicious smile, seeing his unfaithful son and his little boyfriend cooling on the stones of the castle in his mind's eye.

His glorious vision was interrupted by the heavy shout of Voldemort, but he didn't mind. The chaos of the battle would start again, and he could find a way to kill the two brats before anyone was the wiser.

The large wooden doors proved to be of little challenge. Potter merely blasted a hole in them large enough for six men to walk abreast through the moment the wards fell. Together, the two boys in crimson robes rushed into the school, Death Eaters, giants, werewolves, and others flooding in behind them.

Lucius hurried along with the rest, smiling behind his mask and gripping his wand tightly.

* * *

"They'll be in the Great Hall!" Harry yelled at the rush of creatures following him, still running forward. "Kill them all!" He brandished his wand before him like a sword, screaming out a spell that sent a ball of wind swirling forth to bash into the large doors.

The wood splintered, leaving a great, gaping hole. A few people inside screamed and Harry grinned maniacally, ecstatic that they were finally about to end this.

He ducked away from the sudden balls of light streaking towards him and ran into the Hall, still crouched down. His wand was busy, flinging Unforgivables flippantly, swaths of people falling to the floor in agony or unconsciousness.

This was true power. It was intoxicating, causing his eyes to glow with a hellish light and his skin to shine. The sheer strength flowing through his fingertips amazed him, that awful, haunting power. Oh, how he loved it, adored it, longed for it.

He heard a screaming laugh, distantly recognizing the voice as his own. Witches and wizards flung themselves out of his path, the whites of their eyes prevalent and panicked.

Harry raised his head from the body of a blonde Auror, smirking up at the elevated platform where Dumbledore waited.

"I win, Dumbledore!" he cackled, mouth wide and eyes gleaming. "I win!"

* * *

Dumbledore clutched his wand tightly. He had been so proud to finally have a wand of his own after watching his brothers' practice with jealous eyes. He could still remember the feel as the first bit of real magic he had ever done had flown through his fingertips into the ten and a quarter inches of oak filled with Unicorn hair. He understood why Ollivander worked as he did; it was a miraculous thing, to witness such pure, unbridled magic spring forth.

But looking at Harry Potter, his one time protégé, his sentiments dimmed considerably.

So much power being put to such an evil purpose was sickening. And when the boy looked up at him with those Avada Kedavra green eyes, face flushed from battle and lit by the glow of the Killing curse, it was all he could do to remain standing.

"Harry," he moaned, bowing his head. He straightened again, meeting the young man's gaze with as much subdued strength as he could muster. "We will not allow you to win," he shouted over the din of battle.

Harry just smirked.

"You bloody bastard!" Ron cried, turning away from where he had been dueling with a Death Eater. He rushed towards Harry, teeth barred in an angry snarl. "Traitor! Murderer! Liar! Mudblood!"

Harry appeared genuinely shocked for a moment, but recovered quickly. "I'm a Mudblood, am I?" he queried caustically, dispatching a Hannah Abbot with a flick of his wand as he walked towards Ron calmly. "That's rather amusing, coming from a Weasley. I didn't think you had enough Blood Pride to keep yourselves fed. And judging from what I've seen of your house, I was right."

"You betrayed my friendship!" Ron accused, ducking quickly from an oncoming blast of magic. He recovered quickly, springing to his feet. "You've torn apart my family! Everything is your fault! And I'll see you die because of it!"

Harry's neck flushed, and his eyes hardened. "I am no traitor," he managed through clamped teeth. "I would never betray anyone who actually cared for me."

Ron sneered again, opening his mouth to retort.

"Stop it Ron!" Hermione commanded, wriggling between the masses of people. "Leave him alone!"

Ron whirled around, bringing his wand to bear at Hermione's throat. "So you're on his side now, too? I should have known! He's tricked you all!"

"Listen to Granger, Weasley," Harry advised. "She at least seems to understand that she can't defeat me."

"If you're going to kill each other," Hermione snapped, darting to one side to narrowly avoid a Stunning Spell aimed at Harry, "hurry up and do it!"

"She's right you know," Harry said. "I always knew you were smart, Hermione. We're in the middle of a battle, and we can't stand here and talk all day. So I think I'll just have to kill you."

Harry raised his wand, throwing Ron a toothy grin that smacked of iron ferocity. "Avada Ked-"

"Harry!"

Harry turned around, seeing Draco rush towards him. The right sleeve of his crimson robe was torn off and blood poured from a deep gash.

"Voldemort says to finish this!"

Harry nodded, turning around to face Ron again.

The room spun. The blurry forms of people whirled around him. Bright colours began to flash before him, vibrant violets and raging greens. His head felt as if it were about to fly off his shoulders, up towards the rafters barely visible behind the façade of a rising sun projected onto their surface. Blood pounded in his ears, loud and insistent, like the banging of African drums relaying messages that he was hopelessly unable to comprehend.

His head rolled back against his shoulder as his body swayed dizzily. He stopped, poised on one foot, before falling to the ground in a heap.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, lowering his wand in shock.

That was certainly unexpected.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**I updated! Yay for me! And this is where this fic starts getting really good! I've been waiting for this part for such a long time! Hehehehehe! Oh, go ahead and read it! And don't hate me!**

* * *

Hermione's eyes widened and her lips parted, body frozen. Harry was… dead? 

The battles around them stilled, their motions arrested by Malfoy's enraged yell. "Who did this?" he demanded, jumping around Harry's prone form, barely touching the ground before springing off in another direction.

"Why so upset, Draco?" a cultured voice drawled. Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, pulling the mask off of his face and shaking his long blonde hair free of his cowl. "The little whore has been marked for death ever since he was born." He kicked at Harry's body, which rolled over with no resistance. "Surely you must have known this day would come."

Draco growled, clenching his wand tightly in one hand while the other curled into a fist, blood rising from small cuts where his nails dug into his skin. "You killed him then?" he asked, his voice a threatening, muted roar. "You killed your master's second in command?"

"Unfortunately not," Lucius responded calmly, "though I do applaud whoever did. The bastard's had far too much influence of late, as have you. Surely you did not expect the Death Eaters to sit quietly by while you usurped their previous positions of favour."

Draco's jaw tightened and the words he ground out were forced. "I would have expected my own father to rise above such pettiness, or at the very least to use me to achieve his own ends. I'm sorry to have disappointed you, father, but I will not do so any longer."

Lucius smirked. "I should hope not."

"Avada Kedavra."

Draco uttered the words emotionlessly, eyes steely and mouth set in a thin line. Lucius appeared surprised, his eyes glazing over in shock as he fell over limply.

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoulders trembling visibly. He dropped to his knees next to Harry, bringing the dark head up towards him. With terrified concentration he felt for a pulse. "You've survived far worse than this Harry," he reminded the other gently, "you can't be dead now."

Hermione crouched down opposite Draco, studying Harry intently. She picked up a limp hand from where it was sprawled across the floor, clutching it tightly as tears flowed freely down her face. Harry's skin was still warm, almost feverishly so. Surely his body would have started cooling already…

His eyelids fluttered, the motion barely discernable, but there none the less.

"He's not dead!" she cried, dropping the warm hand and stumbling eagerly to her feet. "He's not dead!"

"Then what's wrong with him?" Draco asked in a low voice bereft of his usual biting tone. "He's not stunned either."

"Who cares?" Ron demanded joyfully. "He's not dead; now I can be the one to kill him!"

"If you lay a hand on him," Draco threatened, not rising to face Ron or even glancing upwards, "I will turn you over to the Dark Lord myself. He has way of stripping someone of their magic, so completely that even a Lumos is beyond their reach. Normally it is a fate reserved for upstart Mudbloods, but I'm sure he'll make an exception for you."

Draco snaked his arms around Harry gently, lifting the slight body from the floor of the Great Hall. He turned, picking his way through the carnage towards the exit.

* * *

Dumbledore ignored the scene unfolding before him, instead turning to glance behind him. Lockhart trembled at the intensity of his blue stare, his wand falling to the ground with a light clatter.

"I… I was…" he tried to explain, running a hand through his carefully arranged hair, messing the perfect arrangement.

"You just Obliviated Harry Potter," Dumbledore interjected helpfully. Lockhart nodded fearfully, eyes watching for any hint of the headmaster's intentions. "How much will he remember?"

Lockhart gulped loudly, unsure if his answer would please Dumbledore or not. "He shouldn't remember anything,"

Dumbledore studied him intently for a moment before his blue eyes lit up with their long-absent twinkle. "My friend," he announced joyfully, smiling broadly, "you have just saved us all."

Much to his later chagrin, such recognition from Albus Dumbledore, complete with his small host of titles and all honours possible, totally petrified him.

Gilderoy Lockhart collapsed in a heap of mauve, lace-trimmed robes.

* * *

"My Lord!" a light tenor voice called breathlessly. A short Death Eater rushed up to the Dark Lord, hurriedly bowing and showing the proper respect. "My Lord the troops have entered the castle and-"

"Do you think I can not see that?" Voldemort asked, folding his arms across his chest. His servants always seemed to think that they needed to point out the obvious; still, even this idiot could not spoil his good mood. After all, it was not everyday he could conquer the last stronghold of the Wizarding world.

"Of… of course, My Lord," the man stuttered, bowing again. "The battle was progressing well-"

"Was?" His voice was calm and low, with a tinge of restrained annoyance. He raised one thin eyebrow, cocking his head to one side. "Has something changed?"

"My Lord, Harry Potter has…" The man trailed off, uncertain as to how he should phrase his report.

"Has he defected? Killed Dumbledore? Spit it out, man!" Voldemort took a long stride forward, lifting the slight man up by his collar and forcing their faces to meet. The Death Eater cowered away as much as he could, trembling uncontrollably with terror. His mouth worked for several moments behind his mask before he could gather the courage to answer.

"My Lord, Harry Potter has… collapsed," he squeaked, gasping for air. "He's not dead, but he's not been Stupefied either. No one knows what's wrong with him."

Voldemort's eyes flamed at the news, his grip tightening. "And where is Potter now?"

"Malfoy has him, My Lord."

"Which Malfoy, idiot?" Voldemort paused for a breath before narrowing his eyes. "And the longer you take to tell me, the more painful your death will be."

"The younger one sir, the older one's dead, killed by his own son, for treason they said, wanted to kill Harry Potter, said that he'd been too powerful and that he was a little whore and there's supposed to be some dissent among some of the older Death Eaters who don't like all these new recruits gaining power and the fighting's all stopped." He spoke so quickly, knowing that the Dark Lord did not make threats idly, that his words slurred together into one big mess that took Voldemort several minutes to untangle.

With a grimace he threw the man to one side, motioning for one of his other Death Eaters to remove the weakling from his presence.

With Potter out of commission and these damnable rumors of a rebellion roiling within his ranks, the battle was already lost. After all their careful planning, even with the mishap with the wards, he had thought that their victory was assured. Now, however, he was forced to admit, if not defeat, then at least a temporary withdraw.

Those bastards who dared to question his orders or those of his second in commands would suffer, not just for their incompetence and their doubts, but also for losing him this battle.

"Retreat!" he called, the order being screamed down the battlefield and into Hogwarts. After he dealt with this little insurrection and assured himself of Harry's health, they would be back. And they'd be even stronger next time.

* * *

Dumbledore, though he had his many faults, was not a man to let an opportunity slip by. And the possession of one Harry Potter and all his many magical talents and powers, but without the cumbersome burden of his memory was an opportunity of pure gold.

With a small pop he disappeared from the raised platform at the far end of the Great Hall, reappearing directly in front of Draco Malfoy and the small body cradled in his arms.

"You forget, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore chastised him gently, holding his wand between the boy's wide silver eyes, "that with the dismantling of the wards it is now possible to Apparate in Hogwarts. Now, if I may remove you of your burden."

Draco's lips drew back in a wolfish snarl and he tightened his grip on Harry. "You'll never touch him again, Dumbledore," he growled, spitting on the ground. "Now get the hell out of my way."

Draco roughly shouldered past the old man, hurrying his steps. Dumbledore, however, was not to be deterred. He took another step forward, cutting off Draco's path once more.

"If you would just hand Mr. Potter over to me, Mr. Malfoy, I will see that he receives the best medical treatment available." Draco's muscles strained against the prolonged agony of carrying Harry, and he hefted the body over his shoulder, struggling to remain standing. "After all, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore continued, smiling as if to mollify Draco, "you do not know what is wrong with him. Even a simple mobilicorpus could cause more damage than it would good."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Draco spat, eyes squinting to see the motivation behind the Headmaster's glinting eyes.

"I, on the other hand, know precisely what is wrong with him." Dumbledore flicked his wand, sending Harry hovering into the air and onto a conjured stretcher. Draco opened his mouth to argue, face reddening with rage.

"Retreat! All Death Eaters, retreat!"

Immediately the robed figures began to Apparate, disappearing in swarms. Draco moved as if to follow, but looked up.

He couldn't abandon Harry. After all, Harry was his love, his friend, and his partner. And Harry had risked himself, stupidly perhaps, in order to save Draco in Hogsmeade. Draco might have been a Slytherin, with all the traits of self-preservation that his status prevailed, but Harry was a Gryffindor. He'd be damned if some of the other's foolish loyalty hadn't rubbed of on him.

Besides, he couldn't leave Harry alone with Dumbledore. He had enough to deal with (such as the Dark Lord's reaction to his failure and whatever spell had hit him) and he shouldn't have to deal with the smiling, manipulative bastard on top of it.

"Give him back!" Draco ordered, mind racing furiously to come up with a decent spell.

But Dumbledore only smiled sadly, shaking his head. Strong arms gripped him from behind, dragging him out of the Great Hall and away from Harry.

"Place him in one of the unused dungeon rooms. Feed him, clothe him, keep him comfortable, but don't let him escape. He may be useful later," Dumbledore commanded calmly, before turning around. "And someone begin constructing temporary wards. Put up anti-Apparition barriers first; it shouldn't be too hard. The magic for that resides in the very stones of the castle, and it just needs to be pulled forth. As for the others, well," Dumbledore stopped, rubbing his temples and sighing sadly. "Well, we'll see to them when the time comes."

"Let me go!" Draco struggled against his captor, flailing back and forth.

"I'm not releasing you, you idiot boy," Snape responded in his usual acidic voice. "You've caused enough trouble as it is. If Dumbledore hadn't specifically requested that we keep you alive, I'd be tossing you into the Forbidden Forest to be devoured."

"I have to get to Harry! He can't be without me-"

Snape snorted. "He managed well enough for fifteen years. And besides, you expect me to be moved by the little brat's plight? I couldn't care less if he pines for you or not."

"You don't know him! None of you know him! You don't know what he's like when he transforms or how to deal with him!" Draco spat in Snape's face, glaring fiercely at the potions professor.

Snape threw Draco to the floor in disgust, wiping away the flecks of spittle and pulling out his wand. "Stupefy!"

* * *

"Poppy!"

Pompfrey straightened from the bed of a middle-aged man, setting down a still-smoking goblet. "Just put him on the floor," she said distractedly, "I'll get to him when there's time."

"Poppy, this patient is a priority! He's been knocked unconscious by an Obliviate, and we don't know how bad the damage."

"Headmaster, with all due respect, I have much more critical patients to deal with right now," Pompfrey snapped, scurrying over to a chubby girl leaning against the wall with one arm severed below the elbow. "He won't even wake up for another day or two, and I'll deal with him then."

She clucked her tongue, too concentrated on the oozing wound to try and comfort the poor, sobbing girl. "Besides," she continued, smoothing ointment gently over the torn flesh and wrapping light linen bandages around the useless stump methodically, "it's not as if Death Eaters cast Obliviate often. Whoever he is, he's probably better off without his memory; so he's probably a damn Death Eater anyway."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore stated after a brief silence, blinking at the normally even-tempered nurse's language, "we can't afford to lose him. He's much too valuable."

Pompfrey rose, knotting the bandages with a sharp tug that caused the girl to yelp in pain, clutching her arm to her chest. She had a sharp rejoinder on her tongue, just waiting to give the headmaster a piece of her mind-

Then she saw who the patient was.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No. I'm not treating him. He put half these poor lambs in here!" She turned her back on the Headmaster again, treating the next patient with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Poppy, I already explained to you that he's lost his memory," Dumbledore sighed wearily, rubbing at his temples. "He doesn't remember doing any of the things he did; he's just a poor boy in need of help."

"Get someone else to help him. I wasted enough of my talents on that scum while he was a student here, and I won't divert my attention from other, _deserving_ patients."

"Poppy," Dumbledore said gravely, "if you refuse to treat Mr. Potter, then I will have no chance but to fire you."

"Go ahead!" the nurse cried, white skirts flapping around her furiously. "I dare you! I'm a fully qualified medical practitioner; I can get a position wherever I like!"

"Oh, so you're applying for St. Mungo's then?" Dumbledore wished he could withdraw the comment as soon as he said it, seeing the nurse stiffen. Dozens of her classmates and students had died in the attack, and the wound was still fresh.

"I will attend to him," Poppy conceded in clipped tones, "but I will not have anything but a strictly professional relationship with that monster."

"My dear Poppy," Dumbledore soothed in his most placating tone, "I do not expect miracles."

"That doesn't stop you from asking for them," she muttered, moving to examine Harry with a seething scowl on her face.

* * *

"Send Draco and Harry to me immediately," Voldemort ordered no one in particular, pacing back and forth angrily in front of his throne.

The Death Eaters, wary of their master after their dismal failure, rushed to obey, but all returned with the same message.

Draco and Harry were no where to be found.

"Who was the last to see them?" Voldemort roared, the torches around the room flaring as he lost control over his magic.

"Draco was carrying Harry and-"

"Dumbledore had grabbed Potter-"

"-conjured up a stretcher."

"-arguing with that bastard and struggling to reach the body-"

Each Death Eater seemed to remember events differently, or to order the events differently, or to claim no memory at all. Their answers were a loud wave, crashing into Voldemort's already pounding skull.

"Silence!" The Death Eaters immediately quieted, the eyes behind their masks dark with fear. "Are you telling me," Voldemort hissed maliciously, "that my two prize servants were left behind?"

"The order to retreat was called! It would have been death to stay behind!" a thin rail of a man offered in his defense, holding up his hands in a warding gesture.

"And what do you suppose will happen to the two left behind, hmm?" Voldemort fixed the man with an unblinking, serpentine gaze, but even the man's quivering could not soothe his boiling rage. "How do you think they will be treated? Like honoured guests?"

He paused, then began to inspect the assembled Death Eaters, gazing through the masks of each one as if searching for some hidden truth. "Or perhaps this was not really a mistake at all." Voldemort sounded convinced that this was the case. "Perhaps a few of you have grown jealous of the influence and power those two boys exerted, hmm? Wanted a bit of that for yourselves, did you?"

As one, the Death Eaters shook their heads, bowing and scraping their knees against the hard stone floor.

"Do you think that groveling in submission will make this any better?" the Dark Lord screeched, kicking at the fawning idiots. "Do you think that I am stupid? I will know who did this, and they will be punished. Think on that." He turned neatly in a swirl of dark robes, gesturing for Adolphous Lestrange to follow him.

He placed a long, thin finger on the Dark Mark, enjoying the expression of pain that flitted across his face. Wherever Draco and Harry were, they would come if they could. And if not, he was prepared to force his way past whatever mental shields Dumbledore had erected around Harry.

Harry was his.

* * *

His arm was tickling. Draco swatted at it sleepily, rolling over on the bed and moaning. The tickling was replaced by a slight burning sensation, accompanied by a mental tug.

"Leave me alone, Harry," he mumbled, kicking at the other boy weakly. His legs met only open air.

"Harry?" he queried sleepily, pushing himself up on his arms and blinking around the dim room. "Where are you?" Rubbing his eyes, he cursed, damning Dumbledore and Snape and the world in general.

He hurriedly rolled up his sleeve, staring at the jet black Dark Mark burning on his skin.

_Alright_, he told himself hurriedly, _I can just Apparate over to Voldemort and come back here for Harry._ _Surely Voldemort will understand._

_But what if he doesn't? He could want me to stay there and leave Harry here alone. _

_I might as well try. The worst he can do is kill me._

He sat fully upright and began concentrating. He pictured the Dark Lord's throne room, held the image in his mind. "Here goes nothing," he whispered, taking a deep breath and hoping he wasn't about to make a mistake.

Nothing happened.

"The Anti-Apparition wards have already been reestablished, Mr. Malfoy," Snape informed him, pushing open the door with one hand while carrying a tray of food in the other. He set the tray down on the bed next to Draco. "He can call you through your Dark Mark as much as he wants, but you won't be able to do anything about it."

The burning spread to his entire arm, and Draco clasped the offending limb to his chest in pain. Snape said nothing; he just turned and left, abandoning Draco to fight his tears alone.

* * *

"There's nothing else I can do," Pompfrey informed the headmaster shortly, doing her best to avoid looking at her patient. "He'll wake when he wakes, and until then you'll just have to wait."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding, eyes fixed on the light gray Dark Mark burned into the pale flesh of the boy's arm. So young, and yet his innocence spoiled irrevocably.

The boy was irredeemable.

At least, he had been.

Dumbledore remembered telling Harry that it was a person's choices that shaped their future, not their abilities. But at the time, he'd neglected a key part: the past.

He'd discovered that Harry could not forgive Dumbledore for his unwitting actions, refused to even listen to his pleas for understanding. The wounds of the past ran too deeply and were too numerous for Harry to forget.

But now, that was no longer a problem.

Harry didn't have his memories, couldn't recall how he had been betrayed by his friends. Moreover, the emotions that coincided with those memories would not be accessible. In short, Harry Potter was a blank canvas, even more so then he had been in his first year, and Dumbledore could paint whatever picture he wanted.

That is if he had the time.

The threat of Voldemort was a close one, especially in concerns to Harry. As far as he knew, their mental bond had only grown stronger in the past year, and Harry himself had no mental shields to speak of.

Dumbledore studied the pale, drawn face on the bed, wondering what exactly he could do to begin to remedy that situation. When he woke, Harry would have no way to construct his own mental shields, but there was only so much that Dumbledore could do. And worse, everything he could think of required the person to be awake.

He could protect Harry during the day, but the nights were an entirely different story.

On the bed, Harry twitched, his right hand moving to cover his Dark Mark. He moaned, a deep and pained sound. His forehead furrowed and his eyes clenched tightly shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

Cautiously, Dumbledore removed the hand, startled to see a fiercely glowing Dark Mark burning itself on the boy's skin. Harry wrenched himself out of Dumbledore's grasp, curling into a ball on his side.

The silver serpent on his cheek uncoiled, bifurcated tongue hissing warningly at Dumbledore. It swarmed over Harry's face, moving faster and faster with each erratic circuit.

With a cry, Harry flung himself forward, emerald eyes open and wide, but glazed. He stared ahead at nothing for several minutes, his breathing quick and inconsistent. Suddenly he fell backwards, lips moving as if speaking, but no sound came out.

On his cheek, the serpent smirked.

* * *


	19. Chapter Nineteen

So... I'll bet that everyone is wondering where I've been. Well, I've been sick. I only just received an actual diagnosis of what is wrong with me this week; I've been a year with muscle and joint pain, exhaustion, and migraines. Not fun. Anyway, they know what's wrong with me now (fibromyalgia) so they can treat the symptoms. It's nice to know I'm not crazy.

Anyway, what with this and that, and suffering grades, and switching schools, I've not been in much of a mood to write. But I couldn't abandon fanfiction, no atter how much I've tried. Unfortunately, my computer died, and everything was lost. This isn't the original chapter nineteen, and I don't like it even half as much, but here it is nonetheless. And it's shorter than normal, by a few pages, but it's better than nothing. Oh, and you should check out my new fic, Cities of Cain. It's fun. Only the prologue is up, but it's going to be abso-bloody-lutely epic.

Chapter Nineteen

_He opened his eyes. Or at least, he thought he did. Maybe he really closed them. Maybe he didn't have eyes at all. In any case, he could see, even if it wasn't much. He saw a stick, grubby with fingerprints, a bit of something crimson poking out of one end. He saw a single, bare light bulb, swaying gently as plaster rained down. He saw a book with a dusty cover fall to the flagstones, a twirling bit of chestnut hair, an angry dragon thrashing her spiked tail, a hand desperately clutching a broken mirror, a wriggling mass of... something, a crystal ball hanging lazily in midair..._

_He saw a pair of burning vermilion eyes._

"_Why have you not returned?"_

_He said nothing, did nothing. They eyes narrowed in anger, and he felt a sudden flash of pain- or what would have been pain if he could feel anything. Instead, he had merely knew that he should be hurting, but he wasn't._

"_Did you think to abandon me, after all I have done for you? This is the second time that you have been captured, my serpent. Have you been an agent of his all along? TELL ME!"_

_He shivered, wondering who the voice was, and what he was talking about. He said as much._

"_So you remember nothing?" He nodded, or thought he did. Either way, the red eyes seemed to notice his affirmative. "Even if you forget all else, never forget this, my serpent. I made you, I molded you. I am your creator, and your master. You are _mine_, and I will never allow him to take you away from me._

_At that moment, Harry felt himself being pulled away, taken away from the red eyes that laid claim to him so assuredly. Just before he opened his eyes- and he was fairly sure that he had eyes at this point- the disembodied voice floated to him once more. _

"_MINE!"_

* * *

Albus watched as the boy slowly began to stir. Green eyes blinked, slowly coming to focus on the joyful face before him. 

"Hello?" he asked uncertainly, as if he had forgotten how to talk.

"Harry, my dear boy!" he exclaimed, wrinkled lips flashing a welcoming smile. "How are you feeling? We were so worried about you." Harry felt his temple delicately, hands skimming lightly over his skull until they pressed against the back. He let out a hiss. "Oh, yes, you'll have quite a bump, I expect. A nasty thing it was, that fall you had."

"What?"

"Don't be alarmed that you don't remember, my boy. A curse like the one that struck you doesn't leave much of anything behind it." He tried to dim the twinkling of his eyes, and by the guarded look on the boy's face, he was only mildly successful.

"Who am I?" There was pain in the words, and anguish. Despair and uncertainty. And, hidden beneath all of that, a shining thread of hope, of trust, and of naiveté.

Perfect.

"That, my boy, is a question indeed."

* * *

Draco sat with his face covered by his hands, knees pulled tightly to his chest. No one had come to see him, not since Snape had left. Memories of his previous capture flashed through his head. And what of Harry? Was he, too, sitting in a dungeon cell somewhere, alone and scared? Was he alive? Would he ever wake up? 

He felt a tear prickle at the corner of his eye, and wiped it away hurriedly. A Malfoy did not cry. A Malfoy was not weak. A Malfoy would not sit here, dithering about his horrible situation. A Malfoy should act, should do something, should win.

A Malfoy also didn't betray his family, but his father had seemed to have no qualms about that. Perhaps the Malfoy rules were nothing more than senseless old traditions. And rules were meant to be broken. Harry had certainly shown him that.

Fine then.

The tear fell, followed by a few more.

"Harry!" he cried, as if by invoking his love's name he could summon him.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the door open and close, but that did not matter. He did not stop his crying, the sobs that had started to wrack his body.

"We haven't been separated for so long! He won't be able to last without me, won't be able to stand the transformations. And what am I supposed to do without him?"

"I suspect you'll figure out something, Malfoy. You'll certainly have plenty of time to come up with a plan. Surely you've realized where you are."

Draco turned red eyes on the intruder, glaring through his tears. "I hope that Dark Mark burns your sodding arm off, you fucking bastard. And I've escaped from one of your bloody jails before; I can do it again."

"Do you think me stupid, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked. "You will be given no chance to escape. As a matter of fact, this will be the last human contact you have. This is no longer a child's game. You have killed, and you have corrupted Potter. Dumbledore was merciful once, for your youth, and for Potter's sake." Snape's tone made it quite clear what he wished would happen to Harry. "We'll keep you alive, or the House Elves will. I can promise no more than that. This is an oubliette, Mr. Malfoy. You will have that bed, and you will have food. Nothing more. You will be forgotten, allowing the oubliette to serve its purpose. Harry has already forgotten you, and soon, so shall everyone else."

"Harry would never forget me," Draco whispered, his voice dangerously low. "I don't care what you do to him, or what you tell him. He loves me. Love doesn't forget."

"I'm sure Potter will run to rescue you when he realizes that your surrendered him without a fight to Albus Dumbledore. You're a weakling, Mr. Malfoy. As much as it displeases me to admit so, Potter is strong. He does not belong to, or with, you. You could not even manage to Apparate to safety when you knew the wards were down."

"And I suppose you could Side-Along Apparate when you hadn't even finished school? I doubt you could do so now."

"Do not equivocate. That is unimportant. Good-bye, Mr. Malfoy. You've already been forgotten."

And with that, Snape walked through the door, which closed behind him roughly. Draco flung himself at it, yanking at the doorknob-

Which disappeared as he touched it.

Where the door had been previously, there was nothing but blank stone. He looked upward. A small grate in the ceiling let in a bit of natural light, already fading with the sun. Soon, he was immersed in darkness.

He shivered, curling up tightly as if he was trying to burrow into himself.

"Vous ne m'oublierez pas. Je suis fort. Je vais gagner."

Around him, the cold stones of the forgotten dungeon put the lie to his words.

* * *

The Order had gathered, all those who had survived. Their numbers were sadly depleted; Albus' office was not as crowded as it used to be, and the expansion charms not as strong. Hermione shifted, aware of Ron's glower from across the room. She leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore him. Neville, at her side, glanced uncomfortably between the two of them. His face was bruised, and his sandy hair singed from a flame hex. A cut, crusted over with dried blood, traveled down his face, only narrowly missing his left eye. 

Hermione herself was largely unharmed, thanks to a predilection for strong shielding charms. The only person in their year who had been better was Harry, but that had not saved him in the end. For the millionth time, she wondered what had happened, what curse had struck him down. He had been her friend, regardless of what he was now. Somewhere, she thought, the old Harry was still there. His Cruciatus had been a half-hearted effort at best; despite the length of time she had been held under the painful curse, she maintained her sanity.

She could not say the same for Ron, who continued to glare balefully at her.

She closed her eyes, sighing. Things were never going to be the way they used to be. That didn't stop her from wishing for it.

Dumbledore entered the room, his expression subdued but almost... gleeful. He spoke without preamble.

"We have captured Harry Potter. And he has lost his memory."

Chaos erupted.

"You can't mean to-"

"-kill the boy anyway, it would be-"

"-a trap, a trick!"

"I don't believe that-"

"-he's a menace-"

"Silence!" It was the closest Hermione had ever heard Dumbledore come to screaming, and it was strangely ineffective. The chattering, the screams, the challenges continued, unabated. "Silence," the headmaster tried again, keeping his voice low and calm. This time, the Order members subsided into sullen mutterings and uneasy glances.

"He will not be killed. This is the chance that we have been waiting for. Before, we did not know what had occurred during his months as Voldemort's prisoner, as his servant. Therefore, we could not properly counteract the evil influences that had been asserted over him. Now, however, that problem has disappeared. He is nothing more than a boy."

He looked out on the gathered witches and wizards, catching the gazes of a few and passing over others. He nodded before continuing.

"This is an opportunity that we cannot afford to let pass by. Surely we cannot expect an innocent to pay for crimes that he doesn't remember."

"We sure as bloody hell can!" Ron ejaculated, hitting the palm of one hand with the opposite fist. "That bastard deserves to rot in hell, in Azkaban, in whatever miserable and degrading hole we can find. He killed my family, my sister, my brothers! He'll kill again."

"Constant vigilance!" someone added in a pale imitation of the late Alastor Moody.

Hermione straightened, pushing herself upright from the wall. "What makes a murderer? A killer? He wasn't born that way, he was made that way. I'm not saying that all should be forgiven and forgotten, but surely he's different now. It's our experiences that make us what we are. Harry has none."

Dumbledore beamed, the first time that he had seemed pleased with Hermione in some time. "Exactly, Miss Granger. And, the situation being as it is, we have the power to shape his experiences. Harry _will_ defeat Voldemort. We have only to inform him of his parents, of the life that he could have had. I will deal with the boy."

Somehow, that didn't sound as good as it should have.

The rest of the meeting continued, various people bringing matters of utmost importance to the attention of the headmaster. Wards were discussed, and the continuing education of the students, and what to do with the bodies. Hermione listened with only half a mind, concentrating on the many, many issues that Harry represented.

After the meeting, she pulled Neville aside.

"This is serious, Neville. I've been thinking, and I have a bad feeling about all of this. Dumbledore is not going to tell Harry the truth, or at least, not if it doesn't serve his purposes. But Harry deserves better. He was a brother to me, and he still is just a boy. Dumbledore lied to him so much in the past; if we really want him to get better, to heal, he needs the truth."

Neville cleared his throat nervously. "What should we do, then? Surely Dumbledore won't let us see him."

Hermione yanked on her hair, an old habit that she had thought she had stopped. "We need to find out where he is. They can't keep him guarded too well; he'd grow suspicious, and I doubt that we can even spare the manpower at the moment. We have to find him, and then we can tell him."

"Tell him what, Hermione?"

"The truth. What really happened, as much as I know, anyway. I want to explain what happened, why we... why we betrayed him, like I couldn't before. Surely he'll listen to me now. I never wanted to hurt him, but he... all the evidence pointed to him being a turncoat. I want to explain, to tell him why..." To ask for absolution. The words hung on the air, unspoken but present.

"Well..." Neville seemed to debate something with himself momentarily, his fingers twitching. "I had to deliver some mugwort to Madame Pompfrey- it's a good stimulant, in a pinch, and we're almost out of potions, and the healers can't afford to rest... Anyway, she was muttering about, well, about Harry. She didn't want to treat him, you see, but Dumbledore made her. But that's where he is. In the Hospital Wing, one of the private rooms. It shouldn't be that hard to get in there."

"Oh, thank you, Neville!" Hermione responded, smiling for the first time in days.

"Just... be careful, okay? Dumbledore won't take kindly to this, not if it interferes with his plans. He's ruthless, Hermione. He won't let anything get in the way of defeating Voldemort, not even the truth. He wants Voldemort gone more than anything, and he's willing to do what he must. Even if it's unethical, even if it goes against the prophecy, and even if it calls upon the wrong boy to be savior..." Neville realized he was rambling. He blushed. "Watch out, alright?"

Leaning forward, he gently kissed Hermione on the lips. His blue eyes widened at his own action, and he scampered off before Hermione could say anything, leaving only a frightened squeak behind him.

Hermione just smiled softly, tracing her lips with one finger. "So he is a Gryffindor after all."


	20. Chapter Twenty

**I think this is the easiest that a chapter in this fic has ever come to me. Thanks for your reviews; specific responses can be found in my livejournal. You can find the link to that through my profile: it's listed as my homepage.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty

He sat quietly in his bed in the hospital wing, thinking. Dumbledore had told him of himself, of his past, of the Dark Lord who had murdered his parents and tried to kill Harry numerous times. Of his year-long imprisonment, being tortured by the Dark Lord, and his minions, the Death Eaters. Harry had nearly asked what death tasted like then. He couldn't imagine it was very pleasant.

Dumbledore had spoken of how he was returned to them under mysterious circumstances that Dumbledore himself "made no claim to understand." He was in Hogwarts, his old school, which had been attacked yesterday.

Dumbledore hadn't answered all of his questions. He seemed strangely reluctant to speak of his friends, or of why exactly the Dark Lord maintained such a strong interest in Harry. He shivered, remembering the pain that stemmed from the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and a pair of narrowed, eyes with slit pupils. The silver serpent, the strange, living mark on his cheek that had unknown origins, hissed something.

"Mine."

Harry wasn't sure, but he didn't think that the language was English. How he understood it, then, was a complete and utter mystery. As was everything.

He looked up at the slight scuffing of shoes against the linoleum floor, pulling the white hospital blanket up to cover his chest. There were not enough hospital clothes to go around as it was, and Harry had the feeling that the nurse held a distinct grudge against him; he was not provided with a shirt, only a pair of far too large pants that probably belonged to a giant.

"Ha- Harry?" a hesitant voice called. Trying to move silently, Harry flipped himself off of the bed, crouching to one side. He flicked his arm, but nothing happened. Had something been meant to? The action was almost instinctual. He crept to the foot of the bed, eyes searching for the intruder.

Framed in the doorway, the light from behind casting her as nothing more than a silhouette, was a short girl with her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

"Who are you?" he enjoined hoarsely, wishing desperately for... something. He didn't know what.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she answered, closing the door gently behind her. "Please, I'm not here to harm you. I was- I am- your friend." She looked as if she were on the verge of tears. "I know you don't remember me, but... we were best friends when you were in school here. But then you were kidnapped, and you changed so..." She froze, looking terrified.

"You were so different, Harry, after... well, after. I didn't know you anymore. What happened, to make you turn to him, to Voldemort?"

"I don't know," Harry cried exasperatedly, sinking onto the floor. "I don't know anything!"

"Oh, Harry." Hermione moved as if to hug him, but stopped herself. "Everything awful always happens to you, doesn't it?"

"You mean my parents being killed, and Voldemort trying to kill me in school, and being captured for a year, being held prisoner?" Somewhere inside, he knew these events should mean something to him, but instead he had only a detached sense of ambivalence. They hadn't happened to him, not the person he was now.

"Is that what Dumbledore told you? Bloody manipulator." She scowled, and Harry's interest was peaked. This girl, this Hermione, seemed to be willing to tell him what had happened, without reservations.

"What did happen, then?"

She paused, as if wondering where to begin. "I don't know what he told you, and what he didn't, so I suppose that I'll start at the beginning and tell you all of it, at least as much as I know." She took a deep, fortifying breath, moving to sit in the hard wooden chair beside his cot. "You were born on July 31, 1980. Your parents were James and Lily Potter; I don't know what they did. On October 31 of the next year, Voldemort came to your house. You had been under protection, a complicated charm, but the one who was supposed to guard your secret betrayed you to Voldemort. He was your parent's friend, Pettigrew."

A pair of beady eyes and the image of a scampering rat flashed before him; he did not know what it meant.

"He, Voldemort that is, killed your parents. And then he tried to kill you, with the Killing Curse, which is supposed to be unavoidable. But you didn't die. No one knows why. Dumbledore says that it was your mother's love that protected you, but I haven't found anything in the library that even mentions such protection magic. Either way, you survived, Voldemort was banished from his body, and you were left with that scar." She traced the shape of a lightning bolt on her own forehead, smiling sadly when Harry repeated her motion.

"I don't know much after that, not until I met you ten years later. You lived with your aunt and uncle, and they weren't too kind to you. You never talked about it much, but I knew you didn't like it there. You came to Hogwarts, and we became friends, along with another boy. That year, Voldemort tried to return using a powerful magical artifact, but you stopped him. The next year, you saved Ginny, at least that time."

"That time?" Harry echoed. "Did I not save her later?"

Hermione blanched, appearing completely nonplussed. "I told myself I'd tell you the truth," she finally said quietly. In your second year, Voldemort possessed Ginny through a diary, and set a basilisk loose in the school. You stopped him, saving Ginny's life. Last month, though... you... killed her."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He felt like he was suffocating, or drowning, and falling, all at the same time.

"_You killed her!" a red-haired boy shrieked. "Murderer!"_

"_You killed Cedric, you killed my boy!"_

"_You sick bastard, you killed them, you killed them all!"_

"_Murderer!"_

"_Killer!"_

"_Murderer! Murderer!"_

"_MURDERER!"_

"-alright?" he heard Hermione say, but he couldn't remember what came before that.

"I killed... Ginny... and Cedric?" His voice squeaked on the last name. "I... killed. Murdered." He stared down at hands, half surprised that they were not coated in blood.

"Yes," Hermione said, trying to sound calm; her shaking voice betrayed her. "I mean, no! You killed Ginny, yes, but not Cedric. That was Voldemort; it had nothing to do with you. You just happened to be there."

"That's not what he said..."

"Who said? Did Dumbledore tell you that you killed Cedric?" Harry shook his head, eyes still staring at his hands. They were pale and long. They looked innocent. How many deaths has they caused? "Did you remember? Who told you that?"

He just shrugged. "I don't know. I just heard it. I've been having... flashes. I don't know what they mean, really. A stick, and a book, a lock of hair, and a rat." _And red eyes_, he thought, but did not say that aloud. They scared him too much.

"Mine!" he heard again in that same quiet, whispering voice. He felt the serpent on his cheek move, and his skin itched as it almost seemed to grasp at his cheek. "Mine."

"The rat... that would be Pettigrew, I think. He was a rat, well, he could turn in to one. Everyone thought that your godfather Sirius was the one protecting your parents, but it was Pettigrew. They sent Sirius to prison, but he managed to escape in your third year. He wasn't free, but... but you knew about him, at least. He meant a lot to you.

"In your fourth year, you competed in a magical tournament, along with Cedric. At the very end, when you went to touch the Triwizard Cup, which would declare both of you the winner, you were transported to a graveyard far away. Voldemort used your blood and a complicated ritual to make himself a new body."

_And there was pain, so much of it. His scar was on fire, and the shallow cut along his arm stung, and Cedric's death hurt him somewhere deep, a physical pain that was somehow the worst of all. And Voldemort laughed, and smiled, and bowed._

Hermione did not notice his attention lapse. "-and Sirius was killed. The next year, Voldemort captured you. He faked the Killing Curse, and everyone thought you were dead. When you returned a few months later, Dumbledore refused to believe you. You had the Dark Mark- his mark- on your arm. Normally, it cannot be placed on a person against their will; everyone thought you had turned. Even... even me. I'm so sorry, Harry! I should have known better, shouldn't have listened to Dumbledore... but the Mark was burning blackly on your arm, and no one knew how you had escaped, and it was all just too much! I didn't mean to betray you, really, I didn't! Oh, please forgive me!"

Harry tried to smile, for Hermione's sake. "I can't forgive you, Hermione." She let out a loud sob. "For you see, I've already forgotten." His smile twisted into a mocking thing.

* * *

_He was looking for something, but he wasn't at all sure that he actually wanted to find it. He was in a maze, a labyrinth. He had the oddest feeling that the passageways were moving, the walls shifting, the very world itself, reality twisting, so that he didn't know what was up and what was down and what was real and what was not. Had he been here before? Had he been in this particular passageway, or just a similar one? Something poked him, and he heard partially muffled laughter as he spun around._

_No one was there._

_He faced forward again, but the corridor of hedges that had stretched on endlessly and endlessly was gone, replaced with a statue of a humped witch._

"_Password?" she inquired politely, her voice high and screeching._

_He craned his head, trying to look beyond the witch. "What's behind you?"_

"_And just how d'you expect me to know, dearie? I don't have eyes in my arse, thank you very much!"_

"_Well, do you know where we are?"_

"_Search me. Shouldn't you know, dearie?" She reminded him of someone, but he didn't know who. "Why don't you use your Inner Eye?"_

_Harry stomped his foot on the ground. He momentarily forgot his anger as the roughly hewn stones seemed to ripple, as if he had kicked the water in a pond. He shook his head. "I've no eyes on my innards any more than you've some on your arse."_

_The witch nodded sagely. A pair of spectacles appeared on her nose, flickering between thin, square frames and large circular ones. "I 'spect that you'll find out eventually." Her hair, which up until now had been a dull gray, turned a vibrant shade of red._

"_I killed you!" he cried suddenly, stumbling backwards. The witch changed into a girl, no, a boy, or maybe both or neither._

"_Of course you killed us," the... thing responded in several voices. "After all-"_

"_-we didn't agree with you. Don't you-"_

"_-always hurt the ones-"_

"_-that you love the most?"_

_The words issued from one mouth, but Harry had the distinct feeling that there were two, or perhaps even three, speakers._

"_Did I? Love you, I mean?" He cursed his lack of memory, and then wondered why it was important._

"_You were a fool," interrupted a new voice. Harry looked down to the ground in surprise, balking at the sight of a white serpent with red eyes. "You loved them, and they betrayed you. So you killed them. They got no more than they deserved, and perhaps less. Do not let their words fool you, my serpent."_

"_Did I kill you, too?" Harry shrieked, trying to back away from the witch-wizard-statue and the large snake, but succeeding only in bruising his back painfully against a wall. Spikes seemed to shoot out, digging into his back, while vines that appeared from nowhere bound him to the spot. "Did I kill everyone?" _

"_I am beyond your power, my serpent child. No man can kill me, and no woman either. Besides, why would you kill your rescuer?"_

"_I don't know! I don't remember!" Harry was beginning to feel like... like... oh, he didn't know what he felt like; he didn't remember anything. He was sick of saying that, of sound like... like... something. Yet another thing he couldn't recall. There. A slight rephrasing. Slightly better._

"_He only wants-"_

"_-to trick you-"_

"_-Harry. Why don't you-"_

"_-stay here with us?"_

"_Do not listen to their lies!" the serpent interrupted, rearing up on his tail until his flat, broad nose touched Harry's own. "They are Dumbledore's; you cannot trust them. Dumbledore didn't tell you the truth, now did he, Harry? You knew that, even if you couldn't remember what really happened. Do you trust his pawns? He would make you into one of them if he could. Like them, your death does not matter. He can always get another, can always find someone else._

"_He won't tell you, of course, about Draco."_

"_Draco?" Blonde hair, so soft, so silky. A smirk, but not a cruel one. This one was special, just for him. A body falling, and a scream. A body over, or under, his own, but it didn't matter, because it felt _so_ good..._

"_Yes," the serpent hissed. "Draco. The one man, aside from myself, that you trusted. That you loved. That you belonged to. You never belonged to them, not ever. They had you chained, but you broke through the bonds and the lies. Surely you can do so again."_

"_Do-"_

"_-not-"_

"_-listen!" The witch-wizard-statue cried. "He LIES!" they finished as one._

"_Stop it, just stop it!" Harry howled, somehow freeing his arms from the entrapping vines and wrapping them about his head. _

"_STOP IT!"_

_And it stopped._

* * *

"Who is Draco?" 

It was Dumbledore again, and Harry felt distinctly uneasy. The snake, the red eyes, Hermione, even his own instincts warned him against trusting this man. Still, he had to know. He had to know where the truth lay. He _had_ to unlock his own memories, much as they scared them, as unpleasant as everyone told him they were.

"Where did you hear that name?" Dumbledore demanded, his blue eyes flashing dangerously, his voice a low growl.

Harry shrugged, trying to maintain his mask of idle curiosity. He couldn't allow his façade to slip, not even for a moment, not like Dumbledore. He couldn't afford to lose a single advantage; he felt as if the pieces were drawing him into checkmate, and, unless he was careful, he would lose his head.

"I dunno. I just know it, that's all. I haven't talked to anyone but you; Madame Pompfrey doesn't seem to like me much." That was a sever understatement. And he had spoken with Hermione, of course, but he could keep his own secrets, if Dumbledore was determined to keep his. "So who is he?"

"He is..." Dumbledore paused, uncertainty written in the sharp lines etched on his brow. "Draco is a very dangerous man. He was your rival while you were here at Hogwarts; the two of you fought like raging hippogryffs." Dumbledore smiled as if this was amusing, but if it was a reference to something, Harry didn't recognize it. He had never even _heard_ of a hippogryff. The old wizard chuckled, but Harry could almost taste the nervous edge to his laughter.

"We do not know his full role, but he was involved in your kidnapping, and your torture. He is... unhinged... maniacal, even. His obsession with you borders on the intensity of Voldemort's; he would do anything to possess you again."

Harry shivered, but it was in delightful expectation with only a small undercurrent of fear, as opposed to the other way 'round.

"Harry..." Dumbledore sighed. "I fear that this is a bad sign. Voldemort has marked you as his, and he has possessed you before. It is possible that he is exerting an undue influence on your mind."

"But I'm an Occlumens!" Harry protested, earning himself an odd look from Dumbledore. He looked down at his hands, neatly folded on the hospital linens, sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what made me say that. I don't even know what an Occlumens is."

A wary spark remained in Dumbledore's blue eyes, but he answered Harry nonetheless. "An Occlumens is a wizard who is gifted in preventing his mind from invasion. You had begun lessons with a professor on the subject in your fifth year, but Occlumency is a very advanced sort of magic. You had not progressed far in your studies before you were captured."

"But then what made me say that? It felt _right_, like... like... my wand! That's what the stick that I've seen is! I have a wand!"

"Are you beginning to remember, my boy?" Dumbledore bore an expression that could have been surprise, but smacked more of fear to Harry.

Harry sighed. "No. Only that. I've seen other things, of course, but they don't make any sense. It's not fair!"

"Life rarely is," Dumbledore rejoined with a sigh of relief. "But perhaps you will regain your memory in time. Let me know if you recall anything else. Anything you can tell us of your time in Voldemort's clutches, however trivial, could very well be the key to defeating him."

"Of course," Harry agreed. _Not!_

* * *

"_So, my serpent, you begin to remember." The red eyes were back again, but Harry wasn't quite as frightened as before._

"_Yes," he answered simply. Privately, he wondered how much this man knew. Did he have spies watching Harry? Or was he watching his life through Harry's own eyes?_

"_You are a gifted Occlumens, young Harry. The blocks that have denied you access to your memories are already beginning to crumble. Soon, they will be demolished altogether."_

"_But Dumbledore said I wasn't," Harry protested. "When did I learn Occlumency?"_

"_Dumbledore lied to you about Draco, now didn't he?" the red eyes responded, neatly evading the question altogether. _

"_At least I know who he is!" Harry raged. "Who are you? Who is anyone, all these people that I see in my dreams, but that I can't remember?" Images flashed through his head of his most recent dream, of the witch-wizard-statue and the white serpent._

"_Surely you have deduced the answer yourself by now," the red eyes crooned mockingly. "A white serpent with red eyes, one who can contact you despite your strong mental defenses..." Harry said nothing. He knew the answer, somewhere inside, but he had no desire to bring it to conscious thought. "Surely... surely you have not forgotten your _master_?"_

_A pale white face with gleaming crimson eyes, a large snake draped lovingly around his neck. A boy, no older than sixteen, twirling a wand lazily as he leaned back against a tall stone column. A gentle smile, a hissed word, an insidious offer that he had no choice but to accept..._

_The images meant nothing, in and of themselves. He could not connect them to anything else, not really. But something was pushing its way to the forefront of his mind, whining for attention, pecking at him like an ignored owl._

"_When did I learn Occlumency?" he demanded loudly. "What aren't you telling me?"_

"_You learned it during your year as my _most _loyal servant, Harry. I trained you, taught you all that Dumbledore had failed to. I gave you the love, respect, and power that had been denied to you for so long."_

"_What really happened? Who did I believe, who did I follow?" And, in a quiet voice, he wondered, "and who will I choose now?"_

"_I trust that you will come to the proper decision, my young serpent. You have until the full moon to realize that Dumbledore and his Order offer you nothing but perfidy and chains. And do not forget Draco."_

"_Draco..."_

_The red eyes swirled away, momentarily embedding themselves in the head of a white serpent._

"Draco!" he yelled, shooting upright and tangling himself in the sheets. He searched frantically for the body that should have been there, for the person he should remember... but no one was there.

* * *


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Hi everyone! Welcome to the last chapter. Yes, last chapter. Don't worry, though, I'm planning on a sequel titled Irrevocable. It's going to be fun, and definitely put a new twist on things. Also, sorry if this is freaking weird, but I was going through the pre-stages of a migraine when I wrote most of it, only I didn't realise it, so this is kind of odd, to say the least. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Irredeemable

Chapter Twenty One

* * *

It had been a trying time. Dumbledore said as much in his speech, standing on the platform at the end of the Great Hall, looking out at the pale, drawn faces sitting at the restored House tables. There weren't many there; they probably could have all squeezed around a single table and been marginally comfortable. 

Comfortable was a dim memory, for Dumbledore. He hadn't been comfortable since Harry had turned, a mere month after he had been captured. And now, with the boy beginning to remember... comfortable was the last thing he felt.

Harry was an Occlumens. That was unexpected, and unwelcome. The _obliviate_ had given them a chance, however small, and now all that was coming to an end. Dumbledore had known Harry could learn Occlumency, and easily. He had always been a private boy, and the mind is the most private part of a person. Still, he had not expected that to be something that Voldemort would teach the boy, as there was the chance that it would block the connection that the two shared. But perhaps he had overcome that obstacle by his other marks, the Dark Mark and that sickening serpent upon his face. Dumbledore didn't know. There was far too much that he didn't know, that he _needed _to know. But he did know one thing, as much as the knowledge pained him.

"Voldemort is gathering his forces once more. His ranks are united, and we are the only obstacle to his complete and total victory. He will be here within the hour."

* * *

Harry felt awkward. He stood on the small platform in what he had been told was the Great Hall, a wand he had instantly recognized with both his heart and his magic in his hand. Dumbledore stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, its purpose as much to restrain as to strengthen. 

Everyone was staring at him.

Hate and fear. Nervous. They were all nervous, and he was mostly sure that at least a part of that was directed at him. Why did he make them nervous? He couldn't do anything, couldn't hurt them. Or, he could, but he wouldn't. He only knew one spell, which he had been taught hastily.

_Avada Kedavra_.

The words made him shiver, but he wasn't sure if it was in fear or anticipation. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. But he was fairly sure that he wanted Draco. Whoever Draco was. He knew the name, the hair and the eyes, and the way the mere mention or thought of him made him feel, but that was it.

He looked for Hermione, the one person he felt he could trust. She had been honest. She had told him everything, he instinctively felt. She had told him of the lives he had saved, the lives he had destroyed. And it didn't matter to her, none of it. She just wanted him to know, to make his own decisions. He didn't understand that, and he had asked her why.

"Because everyone deserves the right to choose. Free choice is the most important thing in the world. We have to be free to decide if we want to hurt or heal, construct or improve or diminish. And every action has a consequence that we should face. But you, Harry, you've had to face the consequences of others' actions far too often, as well as your own. And you've had so few choices, almost no say in the shape of your life. And you should have that now.

"We need information, data, facts, to make the right decision. And that's what I'm giving you. Whatever decision you make, I'll know that I at least did that much."

And Harry respected that. He respected her, liked her even. Shards of returning memories told him that she had spoken true. But he couldn't find her in the hall. Instead, he found himself looking at a tall, gangly boy with far too many freckles and a look of such intense hatred in his eyes that Harry took an involuntary step back.

"Spiders," he said suddenly, unsure of why he said it. The boy shivered.

"You should have been strangled the moment you were born," he declared with rancor.

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said in a warning tone. The boy's mouth worked, as if he was debating whether or not he should push, but it closed after a few moments. It seemed he did not believe that Dumbledore would give so much as an inch if put under pressure.

Instead of spewing whatever was in his head, he stared at Harry. Hard and long. His gaze made his intentions clear: I don't trust you, don't like you, don't even think that you deserve to live.

Was he a Weasley? Harry didn't know, but he knew the Weasleys all had red hair. Or at least the ones he had killed had. He remembered that. He had killed, without mercy, without remorse, without even thinking of the lives he had taken. Was he really a monster?

But Dumbledore expected him to kill Voldemort without a qualm. _Red eyes, the pupils slightly elongated. A cold, elegant hand caressing his cheek, the silver serpent writhing in pleasure_. What was the difference? What made killing one man okay, but killing others evil?

Worst of all, he couldn't even remember why he had killed the three Weasleys. It was almost as if the memories he had were those of some silent observer. He saw himself, and he saw the bodies. But that was it. No surroundings, no other people. Maybe he had been justified in killing them. Hermione had not said much on the subject. She just gave him their names, and told him that he had killed them. Perhaps she didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to either.

* * *

The doors to the Great Hall flew off their hinges, shrapnel flying in all directions. The doors themselves, mainly intact, landed harmlessly off to the side, not crushing any of the armed wizards and witches who stood shaking at the front of the room. 

A man was standing there. He was tall and pale, thin and strange. He began to move further into the Hall, and when he stood perhaps a few metres from the gathered crowd, Harry finally understood the small, niggling sense of recognition.

Voldemort.

He mouthed the name, remembering the flashes of red eyes. Voldemort smiled at him with his thin lips, but it was a grotesque thing, full of arrogance and... a darkness that he couldn't describe, but which called out to him nonetheless.

"Harry," he hissed, the word an embrace, full of meaning. _Welcome home. I have trapped you once again. You are mine. You are about to return to your proper position beside below me._ Which one was it? Were the equals, or was Harry the subordinate? He didn't return the greeting, instead tightening his grip on the wand- _his_ wand.

"What have they done to you, my snake?" The words sounded odd, convoluted and serpentine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others inch away from the man, fear in their eyes.

"What has anyone done to me?" he responded, trying not to think. Was this man his friend or his enemy? His consciousness tugged him both ways, a vicious game that left him feeling empty and somewhere in the middle. A mere possession.

The others edged away from him this time, looking at him with an odd mixture of awe and repulsion. "Parseltongue," they whispered, as if this were the one thing that could damn any man to hell for a certainty.

"Your memories have not yet returned," the snake-like man crooned, taking a few steps closer to Harry. Harry took a few steps forward, jumping lightly off the platform without thinking. This man called to him, like a siren song that only he could hear. The serpent on his cheek danced around, making the sign for infinity as quickly as it could.

Voldemort's hand reached up, stroking the silver serpent with the utmost care. "Twice I have marked you as mine," he intoned, as if this were a ritual that must be done with precision. His other hand moved to Harry's arm, lightly tracing the shape of the Dark Mark that seemed to glow a dark, dark black at the motion. "And mine you shall remain."

Harry's head spun, his ears rang, and he felt as if he were falling forwards when he was only standing still.

Suddenly, his back was against Voldemort's chest, and the man bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Kill Dumbledore, my little serpent."

And Harry raised his wand.

* * *

Draco stared at the ceiling. No one had come for him, no one had told him anything. He was beginning to think that he had been forgotten. The House Elves delivered food, but only when he was sleeping. He tried to fool them, to feign sleep just to _see _something else that lived and breathed, but it was to no avail. 

His nails were bitten down to stubs, and he had taken to twisting his hair until small strands were jerked out, just to release some of his nervous energy. His heart thudded loudly, the only sound aside from his short, panicked breaths.

When the doorknob appeared, he ignored it. He'd seen it appear, again and again, taunting him, only to disappear as soon as he stretched out his shaking hands. It was an illusion, a mirage in this desert of stone.

The handle turned, and Draco focused on counting. _One, two, three, four..._ But then the door opened, and all of his self control disappeared, and he prostrated himself before the feet of whatever magnificent god had seen fit to release him from this hell.

Two slim hands grabbed his arms, pulling him upright with an effort. "Listen, Malfoy, Draco..." He opened his mouth, but the girl continued. "I know what you think of me, but we don't have _time_ for that right now. Voldemort's attacking the castle," Draco's heart rose, "and Harry's in deep trouble." His heart crashed through the bright clouds and plummeted deep into the earth, splintering stone as it went.

He gave a wordless cry, but Granger continued pulling him along relentlessly. "He's lost his memory, and he doesn't know who to believe. I've told him as much as I know- the truth- but he only has a few flickers of things that he recalls. Flickers of you, mostly. I don't know if you can do anything to help him, and I don't care what you do, but he needs someone right now. And you're the best choice."

He'd only forgotten his memories. Draco felt as if he could sing, but he couldn't find the breath to do so. They could fix that, and if not, they'd make new memories together, good memories. Harry was safe, Harry was uninjured, and Harry was still his!

Draco began to walk more briskly, and Hermione matched his half-run with a sigh of relief. Perhaps this would work out, now.

* * *

"Harry." That was all Dumbledore said. He had a look of trust on his face, trust in Harry, but his eyes were full of fear. And even, way down in those blue, incessantly twinkling depths, a look of hate. But the name, _his _name, he realised distantly, meant nothing. The wand seemed to tremble in his hand, and he raised it further. 

Voldemort was at his back, one hand clenching at his hip, his mouth nearly touching Harry's ear as he whispered in that soft, hissing, malevolent voice of his.

"He lied to you, didn't he, my little serpent? He used you, abused you, threw you away as if you were trash. But you aren't trash, are you? You're a treasure, a jewel, my little silver serpent." That long cold hand flicked down his cheek again, and the snake upon his cheek felt as if it were trying to rip itself out of his skin, thrashing in pleasure across his face, half blinding him from the flashes that it's silver body sent into his eyes. "All mine, all mine, and he tried to take you away, tried to make you his. He deserves punishment for that, doesn't he, my sweet?"

"Draco's," he managed to croak, shutting his eyes, his head feeling as it itself was spinning. His stomach clenched, and he could feel the world weaving around him, weaving through him. Bile rose in his throat, but he did not retch, just gasped and gaped, opening his mouth and working the muscles of his throat, wishing that something, anything, would happen and that this would all go away.

"Mine," the voice hissed, and Harry could barely feel the long nails digging into the flesh of his hip, leaving thin red crescents of blood that dribbled down onto the tops of his hospital issue trousers. His skin itched, and his mind itched, and suddenly the touch of the cold body at his bare back was too much, and he threw himself forward, stomach heaving, wand nearly splintering as he crashed to his hands.

"Kill him!"

And Harry wasn't sure what he did next, only long silver hair pooled to the floor, the head hung at an awkward angle over the edge of the stage. He tried to pick himself up, tried to look, tried to forget and remember all at the same time.

"Dead!" And it was the one voice, the one that was still whispering, but it was other voices, too. A million times the words was repeated, with joy and rage and sorrow and triumph and disbelief. Dead dead dead dead dead deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead DEAD!

DeaddeadDEAD?DEADDEAD!DEADdeadddeaddead!deadharrydeaddeaddead.

"Harry!"

A pair of warm arms pulled him close, cradling him against another's chest, and his fringe was pushed away, out of his eyes, his eyes that were open and seeing and yet he saw nothing. "Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry!" A few tears splashed on his chest, then a few more, mixing with the blood and turning his trousers pink.

And then there were eyes, the eyes that he knew and wanted, not the eyes that came unbidden, and that pale hair, and the familiar face, and all of a sudden he was back where he should have been all along, in his body.

"Draco?" he tried to ask, reaching up a pale and trembling hand. "Dead?"

"Not dead, not dead, you're not dead, you're just fine, just fine, Harry, and Dumbledore's dead, and you've done it, and it's all going to be okay now! All done, you're fine, I'm fine, done done done!" And Harry wanted to say something, but he couldn't, he could only hiss, and Draco looked at him in confusion.

He tried again, wanting to ask what was going on, what had happened, where was he, when this was all going to be over? But his mouth wouldn't work properly, and his voice didn't form words, but a long string of hisses that made those eyes blink in confusion in pain in misunderstanding.

"My serpent, you've killed Dumbledore, my brave, brave little sweet serpent," the voice crooned, but the voice didn't match the movements of Draco's lips, and suddenly he was lifted off the ground, away from Draco, away from comfort, and held in the air by the red eyes. And the hissed endearments continued but Harry could barely tell one apart from the other, and they all melded together in a long stream of sibilants that made less sense and more sense and none at all.

He was being sucked in by that voice, that darkness, and his feet had already gone, and his torso was so elongated that it shouldn't be possible, and he stretched out his arms, crying for Draco, for sanity.

And the good voice, Draco's voice, called for him, but the black hole arms wouldn't let him go, and he was falling falling flying rising.

* * *

"Harry!" Draco screamed, reaching out for the boy. "Please, my lord, please, let me have him, let me hold him, he needs me!" 

But Voldemort only shifted Harry's weight, ignoring the boy's feeble struggles, and tightened his grip. "You are no longer necessary, Draco Malfoy. Harry is no longer yours. You have served your purpose, and now that he is fully mine, I release you from your service." A jerk of his hand, and Draco shivered as the silver serpent on his cheek seemed to float away, cursing and spitting at him, baring his fangs as it flew through the air back towards its maker. "You are not needed."

"Need Dracossssssss," Harry wheezed, reaching blindly in the wrong direction. He twisted his body, fighting the grip of the too-strong arms, thrashing about until he finally fell to the floor. He landed with a thump, but no one noticed. Draco was screaming at Voldemort, tears streaming down his face as he begged, pleaded, and Voldemort was snarling back at him, telling him that Harry was his, not Draco's.

Hermione rushed to the fallen boy's side, propping his chest up, his head lolling against her shoulder. She tried to comfort him, running her hands through his black hair, rubbing his back, but he squirmed and twitched and didn't seem to know where he was at all. But she'd seen everything, seen the dazed Harry throw himself to the ground, seen Dumbledore fall. Draco had rushed ahead of her into the Great Hall, the only one moving in the stillness at the wizard's death.

And now Voldemort and Draco were fighting, and Harry lay on the floor between them, half-forgotten, his eyes lidded as if drunk and his voice switching between Parseltongue and English, and none of his words made sense.

Hermione didn't know how long the room held like that, no one moving, the only sounds the shouts of Draco, Voldemort's terse replies, and Harry's sobbing nonsense. But slowly, so slowly that she wasn't sure, Harry began to come back from wherever he had been. He blinked his eyes, gazing at Dumbledore's corpse and the Death Eaters and Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix, and finally at Draco and Voldemort.

"All done?" he asked, voice high and childish. He wavered as if sleepy, eyes opening and closing languidly, his thumb drifting towards his mouth.

"All done," Hermione and Draco said as one. Voldemort smirked and, with his eyes locked with Hermione's, he crooned gently to the boy.

"All done now, my sweet serpent. All you have to do is kill the Mudblood and the boy, and we can be away from this place." He smirked, red eyes flashing in delight as Harry looked at the wand in his left hand, nibbling his right thumb slowly.

He waved it about, almost experimentally, a child who had stolen their parent's wand but wasn't quite sure what it did. "Avada Kedavra," he whispered, but there was no jet of green light, no body falling to the floor.

"That's right, little Harry," Voldemort encouraged, pointing at the two teenagers. "Avada Kedavra."

Hermione closed her eyes, wondering if she had come so far only for this to happen now. "It's your choice, Harry," she told him calmly, feeling the boy at her side stiffen. "You decide what you want to do."

"Kill them?" he asked of Voldemort, his eyes losing some of their glaze, his voice deepening. "Why?"

"Because I told you to, Harry," Voldemort replied.

"No. No!" He shook his head wildly from side to side, his too-long hair whipping Hermione in the face. "My choice."

"You don't have a choice, little serpent." Voldemort's voice had lost its lilting quality, becoming cold and hard, the voice that everyone was used to. "You belong to _me_."

"Mine!" Harry yelled, sounding like a petulant toddler. "Mine mine mine!" He raised his wand, waving it at the Dark Lord, brows drawn in fury. His head was still pounding, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. "Mine!" he cried a final time, bringing the wand down hard, splintering the wood as a light of green so intense that Hermione would never dare to call anything else green again slammed out of the wand towards Voldemort.

There was a moment of silence, and slowly the body crumpled into ash, a small pile of dust that whipped away in a wind that touched nothing else.

"Mine," Harry stated one last time, pointing to himself. "Mine." And then he buried his face in his hands and cried.


End file.
